


A Court of Death and Legends

by RebelleCrown



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Curses, Death Gods, F/M, Mating Bond, Nesta feels, Originally Published on Quotev, Well almost, a court of silver flames, acosf, acotar4, it's here it's here it's here, my version of the next book basically, silver flames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 40,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelleCrown/pseuds/RebelleCrown
Summary: Nesta stole more than she thought from the Cauldron- more than she can handle. In this story (my version of the upcoming novel), she struggles to cope with the aftermath of the war and despite how it may seem, she isn't alone. As ancient beasts quake across distant oceans and secrets she's spent a lifetime running from reemerge, past, present and future collide in ruins. There is one person left who can right it. But can she right herself first?
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 340
Kudos: 229





	1. Wantings and Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first multichapter fic on AO3, originally published on my Quotev (RebelleHeart). Let me know what you think, I'm excited to be working on this!

For a moment, she was not in her body. For a moment, she was floating on a phantom wind, in the ageless, endless dark that lay somewhere within her chest. For a moment, there was silence, even peace. And then she was back.

"No," she said. She meant her voice to be strong, to be steel, but what fell from her lips was little more than a broken whimper. She shook her head and tried again. "No."

"Nesta," Cassian said, and it was the firm yet gentle voice she'd heard him use on his soldiers. Heard him use, tell them to breathe while healers tried to put their guts back inside them in dingy war tents that smelled of blood- "Nesta," Cassian repeated, "this is not up for debate." She could almost see the unspoken words in his eyes. _Not anymore._

She let out a bitter laugh at the sight of it, even as some fractured part of her soul recoiled. Amusing, in a sad sort of way; unwanted for so long in the mortal lands, now unwanted in Velaris and not even wanted to _try_ in the Illyrian Steppes. She had half a mind to set off and search out Lucien's little Band of Exiles- that was, if only she didn't loathe the male so much.

"Wonderful," she bit out instead. "I go through all that Hell with the Cauldron, go to war and back for your stupid court-" she rose to her feet, forcing herself not to balk under the simmering glare of the High Lord, "and yet you can't even stand to have me around after the fact."

"We couldn't stand to have you around before the fact, either," Amren muttered, "you just happened to be useful to us, then." Nesta's nostrils flared and Feyre spun around to shoot the tiny female a glare.

"Nesta," Feyre said, now turning to face her sister and walking to meet her in the centre of the room. She reached for her hands and Nesta flinched away. Feyre flinched a little herself, but kept her hands back as she said softly, "I am not sending you away because I cannot stand to have you around."

"No," Nesta agreed flatly. "You tend to make a point not to have me around in the first place."

Rhysand made a noise at least vaguely reminiscent of a snarl as Feyre's eyes shuttered, and plumes of night began to swirl around him as he fought to keep his power in check. Nesta could feel that struggle, that battle, through her own power- some tendrils within her even trying to free themselves from her and go to him. As if even _they_ couldn't stand her.

"You are always welcome here," Rhysand managed to say, the sentence vaguely oxymoronic given the ire still dashed over his face, the tension in his muscles. "Your choosing to stay away cannot be used as a weapon against us."

Nesta forced herself to straighten, to look down on him over Feyre's shoulder. Gods, even from here he seemed to tower over. Unearthly magic, he possessed, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian's history. And even then, pale in comparison to Feyre's magic, though hers tended to be tamer until unleashed.

"I know how to read beyond an invitation," she snapped. "It's clear whether or not I'm wanted in your happy-go-lucky little menagerie. But I don't care. Because I don't want to be here either." Feyre's face crumpled further, shielded though Nesta could sense she tried to be, and she could have sworn it was true devastation on her features. But she pushed on, "So I don't care if you dump me in Velaris, or the Illyrian Steppes, or the gods-damned Hewn City. I don't care if you ship me off with Lucien's little Band of Exiles, or toss me in the Sidra to float out to sea, or leave me to rot in a lightless alley. I don't care, not what becomes of me, and not what becomes of you. I don't care."

Amren snorted, still curled up in her corner of the room. "If you spoke truth, girl, you wouldn't feel the need to defend it so much."

Nesta's lip curled back from her teeth. "I don't care."

Amren responded only with a wicked, knowing smile.

While Nesta's eyes were cast away from her, Feyre managed to reach out and grasp her sister by the hand. Nesta tried to pull away, but Feyre held her fast, looked her in the eyes. As if she could see past the horror and fear and melancholy Nesta tried to keep hidden there. As if she could see it all.

"I think it will help you," Feyre whispered hesitantly. Almost like... gods, she almost seemed like _Elain_ in that moment. "Hope it will help you."

"If I needed your _help-"_ Nesta sneered at the word, "I would have asked."

She pulled her arm away from Feyre, spun on her heel and strode for the door. She pretended not to hear Amren's witty comment on Nesta's "help"- of course, yet more innuendoes about her nightly activities- and slammed the door as hard as she could on the exit, wishing it hadn't been built for immortal strength and would shatter off its hinges. She let out a wisp of her magic, barely a tendril of what built in her like a thunderhead, and tried not to look too satisfied at the shattering sound of a large vase in the adjacent hallway. She didn't dare look towards what she'd done.

The luxurious hallways and open rooms of the happy little estate gave way to elaborate doors, open to Elain's gardens and the long pathway that would lead her back to the streets of Velaris. Back home.

Home. A cruel taunt of a word, for someone who had never, and likely would never, had one. Perhaps that first house had been considered one, before it had simply became the deathplace of her mother and the crumbling monument of all the family had lost after. But it was nothing now. Just as that awful forest cottage had been nothing, and that ruined manor house was now nothing, and Velaris was nothing and the Night Court was nothing and Prythian was nothing.

Or maybe, just Nesta was nothing.

She had made it all the way to the gate at the end of the property when beating wings sounded through the air, and Nesta stiffened as she turned to face their culprit.

Cassian's eyes were wary as he reached for her- reached out, and tugged his hand away again. Looked at her without either of them saying a word.

"You can choose when we leave," he said eventually. Hollow words, a hollow offer.

"I don't care," Nesta replied bitterly. The words were almost a mantra to her now, echoed with every shared glance and joke she wasn't a part of, every smile she washed off happy faces, every insult meant to make her shatter. _I don't care, I don't care, I don't care._

Cassian's nostrils flared, and Nesta wondered if he scented it on her. If he could tell- beneath the smell of the male, the old wine, the utter indifference- that there was an empty part of her that still hurt. Ringing with a dull ache she waited to fade into nothing like the rest of her.

_I don't care, I don't care, I don't care._

"Then we leave at noon," Cassian declared, whatever had been simmering in his eyes melting away as he straightened up. Leaning one arm against the iron of the gate, he added with a roguish grin, "I'll pick you up."

Nesta scowled, straightening herself as she backed away a step. "And fly us all the way to the Steppes?" She'd seen a map; she knew the distance.

Cassian just purred, "I figured the time would only get us closer."

Nesta's scowl deepened. "Call one of the others to winnow me in. I assume we'll be spending more than enough time together as it is."

She shoved the wrought iron gate until it swung, and slipped into the outside world. Away from that mindless, blissful place her sister was so happy to call home. Cassian grinned at her over the top of the gate as she turned to close it, though there was something halfhearted about the expression. Good. Let him give up on her, too. It was about time.

"You'll have to get used to flying with me eventually," he said, humor dancing in those still-grim eyes. Grim at the thought of flying so much with her that she did, indeed, grow used to it. Well, that made two of them.

"See you at noon," Nesta said flatly.

She turned on her heel to walk off, into the streets of Velaris, feeling Cassian's eyes tracking her every step of the way. As he always did.

The wind roared around her, cold and merciless, and she let herself lean into it as if it were a comfort. Let that glimmer of ice in the clouded summer morning try to bank those flames within her- those life-flames that had turned to nothing but screaming embers in all the months she'd been festering here. Those life-flames that had once raged and burned and roared with the fury, the force of everything she felt so deeply, so much, too much. Doused to embers while Nesta waited, patiently, for them to be stamped out entirely. Until she could feel nothing.

It wouldn't be long now, she figured. But she didn't care.

**.oOo.**

A pillar of steel.

Even as disheveled as she was, fraying at the seams, Nesta was a queen in every right, with every step she made towards Velaris. Every step away from him.

Cassian told himself to pull away, to go back inside, but he still found himself staring after the female for long minutes as she started towards town. Maybe he deserved this, this hatred she felt towards him.

_I will find you, in the next life, and we will have that time._

She hadn't argued, then, though perhaps she simply thought to humor him on his deathbed. Perhaps had been disappointed at the way things had turned out- disappointed Cassian was not in that next life, hounding after the next Nesta. But this was the next life- this, after the war, this rebuilding land of peace. This was the time for them to have their promised time together. Yet Nesta...

Cassian sighed, suddenly heavy, and made himself fly up into the sky, into the cloudy summer morning. Made himself soar high above the streets of Velaris, curving through the air and letting the wind hammer into his face. He needed to go fast, even if he wanted to fly forever. Needed to feel himself go fast.

Folding his wings back in, he came in for a sharp landing on the balcony at the front of Mor's quarters on the estate. He couldn't help but admire the strength of the stones, not even cracking, as he speared down onto them. Built for Illyrians- or at least reinforced for them.

He heard bustling footsteps inside as he opened the door, and sure enough, Mor was just stumbling through the doorway in her usual lazy morning disarray as he stepped across the threshold. His temper must have shown in his body, because Mor's footsteps were soft as she walked towards him. No yelled remarks about wrecking her beauty sleep, no insults.

"Hey, Cass," she said, and her voice was chipper even if it was wary. He hated that wariness, that awareness that he wasn't okay when he was fine. "The meeting went well?"

He only grunted in response, shutting the doors a bit harder than he meant. "I need you to winnow us in at noon."

Mor didn't object to the demand, didn't ask why he didn't fly the pair of them. Perhaps she'd already guessed this would be the case. She only asked, "Are you unhappy with this arrangement? Or is Nesta?"

Cassian snorted. "No, Mor, I'm being bitchy for no reason and Nesta is over the moon with it. What do you think?"

"I think you were very quiet when Rhys and Feyre asked this of you and you haven't spoken a word of it to any of us since."

Cassian fell silent at that, and for once cursed his friendship with the female. Cursed that they were close enough she could tell things like that, when he tried desperately to hide them. They all knew his tells by now- Cauldron, they'd probably been whispering about him for days. Worst of all, they'd probably been right, too.

So he said, in a low voice that told Mor he wanted nothing to do with the subject, "And what of it, Mor?"

Mor sighed. "You knew she'd react badly-"

"We all knew she'd react badly-"

"-and you didn't want her to," Mor continued, eyes narrowing at the interruption. "You wanted her to want to be with you, and talk to you, and go with you. And you've been trying to convince yourself she wouldn't, but that part of you still wished for it, and now she has reacted exactly as we all figured she would, and those hopes have been crushed, and it makes you hurt."

Cassian glowered at her. "Quit talking bullshit."

Mor rolled her eyes, turning away. "Fine. I'm sorry I said anything. I'll be ready by noon."  
Cassian sighed, still scowling after her as she left the room once more, and slumped down on the nearest chair that would accommodate his wings. Put his head in his hands and thought over all the words roaring through his head.

_You wanted her to want to be with you._

_My only regret is that we did not have time._

_I don't care._

Nesta didn't care. Didn't care about him. He should try not to care about her, either, but... but he'd failed her. Mate bond or no, he should have had Nesta out of this pit by now, should have helped her get better the way Rhys did for Feyre. The way Feyre had done for Rhys. Yet Nesta was still a hollow shell, and Cassian was beginning to feel like one himself. A failure. A failure for not saving her the way he should have.

The way he wished.

But wishes were empty, wishes were nothing. He was learning that the hard way.

So he waited for noon to come, and refused to let himself hope that Nesta might have changed her mind about him by the time he arrived.


	2. Shatterable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble stirs across the courts and within the camps as Nesta and Cassian continue to fight their separate battles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the formatting is bad! I'm new to AO3, so still trying to make it work. The chapters on here will probably take longer to be uploaded because of that.

Nesta was pissed off to see Cassian when he came to get her that afternoon. And she was pissed off every time he came home to the Illyrian hut in the evenings, every time he woke her up with his bustling about in the mornings. Cassian couldn't tell if that was her permanent mood, or only when he was around. He wasn't quite sure which one he wanted it to be.

Either way, she had spent the days since he'd brought her there curled up in an odd little corner with her blanket and a book, pointedly ignoring him and everything else. She joined him for silent dinners before the fire, her body tense enough he thought it would snap, then retired to bed. And that was their... "routine".

Cassian knew Feyre's plan was failing, that this wasn't helping Nesta. But he didn't know what the hell else to do, not when Nesta would hardly even look him in the eyes. Let alone speak to him, or let him help her. Part of him felt like it was breaking in turn with her just from the fact he hadn't been able to do anything yet. 

Needless to say, he was reasonably distracted in the meeting that day.

"Cassian," Rhys said from across the table. His voice was a firm warning, but Cassian could feel the tones of careful understanding beneath. He looked up to see Rhys bent over the map on the table, fingers tapping on the space of the Day Court. 

Cassian blinked, then examined the space. He couldn't work out what they had been talking about for the Day Court, so he only waited for his friends to continue speaking.

"Lucien visited the Estate again a few days ago," Rhys said seriously. Cassian couldn't decipher if he was repeating things for his benefit or not.

"He came to see Elain and I in the gardens." Azriel confirmed Rhys's statement with a nod. "When she asked him how his 'Band of Exiles' fared, he replied that Vassa had been in touch with her keeper. Koschei."

Cassian swore viciously, and Rhys and Azriel both threw him alarmed looks. Well, fuck, if that wasn't supposed to be the bad part!

"Koschei," Cassian said, and even speaking the word felt like a death wish. "The... the Bone Carver's older brother. His and the Weaver's. He told us when I went there with Feyre."

It was Rhys and Cassian's turn to swear colourfully, and Cassian set his jaw.

"Will he be seeking vengeance for the loss of his brother and sister?" Azriel asked.

Cassian could only shrug. "The Bone Carver claimed to fear his siblings greatly, the runt of the triad. But I don't... I don't know how Koschei might have felt about him, or how Koschei might have felt about Stryga. The Weaver," he clarified.

"The Bone Carver was the runt," Rhys said. There was a bout of silence as Cassian nodded in confirmation, and Rhys released another swear with the shake of his head. "He was wiping the armies clean off the plain. And he's the _runt."_

"He was," Cassian said softly. Another silence befell the males before Cassian straightened up. "So what's the bad part? Or the worse part, I mean."

Azriel's face was grim. "Vassa has not been returned," he explained, "though we expect she will be soon enough. But she is employed for regular communications with Koschei."

"So he's using her as a spy now?"

"She, Lucien and Jurian seemed convinced otherwise- that he was only loosening the leash. But it appears so."

Cassian frowned. "She's not likely to pick up on much with her little Band of Exiles, now, is she?"

"Koschei will be doing something else, then, in addition," Rhys mused. "We should talk to them. Get them to answer some questions."  
Cassian scrunched up his nose. "So your solution to them possibly spying on us is to invite them to a meeting and spoon-feed them the information?"

Rhys's teeth flashed. "We won't spoon-feed them anything."

"They'll know we're looking for information," Cassian argued. "They'll know we know he's up to something. It's too risky."

Rhys only looked to Azriel, who was studying the map once more. The tie-breaker.

Noticing their attention, Azriel looked up. "Cassian's right about it being risky," he said. "But Rhys is right that it might be worth it to get some information. I can send Nuala and Cerridwen, or some of my other spies to get the information- or we can risk it. But the risks are high enough it would pay to put this decision to the rest of the court." The rest of the Court of Dreams.

Feyre was doing her painting classes with the kids, but she must have been listening as well, because Rhys said roughly, "Feyre says she'll tell Mor and Amren to meet in the House of Wind tonight. Be there, and we'll make the decision."

"What about Nesta?" Cassian asked. 

Rhys and Azriel shared a look.

"Bring her," Rhys said simply.

"Fly her all the way to Velaris?"

"You can handle that, no problem."

"I'm talking about her," Cassian sighed. "She can barely stand a dinner by the fire in my company. How is she going to stand me carrying her all the way to Velaris?"

"She has withstood a great many things worse," Azriel said. "Complain she may, but she'll handle it fine."

Cassian didn't reply to that. He didn't feel like explaining that Nesta might be fine, but she was broken, and fragile, and Cassian didn't want to shatter her. He had never thought of Nesta as... well... _shatterable,_ but it got easier to see over time that no one was immune to it. He'd bandage her back together if he could.

But he couldn't.

He only shook his head to clear it and looked back at the map. "What's the Day Court got to do with this?"

"That's unrelated," Azriel said, and his quiet voice was a balm to the jagged edges grating through Cassian. "But many of its inhabitants have disappeared. Mostly females- and most of them from in or near to the city of Yhigan."

"That's where Helion lives, isn't it," Cassian said. Not really a question, but he still got short, clipped nods in return.

"He claims to have nothing to do with the disappearances, and has begun a dedicated search- which is how I caught wind of it," Rhys explained. "But a lot of the relations of the victims are pointing fingers at him. Especially since he allegedly took a great deal of them to bed before their disappearances."

"Whoever's to blame is a shrewd kidnapper," Cassian murmured. He had no doubt that Helion was innocent in this matter.

"Indeed," Rhys said. "So many of Az's spies are to be deployed for this matter, too. Helion promised to send files on the missing fae to us."

"I can post things up for the Illyrians to watch out for," Cassian offered. "I doubt it'll do anything, but it won't be difficult to try."

Sharp, curt nods.

"The files should have arrived by tonight," Rhys said. "If they have, I'll bring them to dinner."

"Sounds unappetizing," Cassian joked. But his heart wasn't in it- not when there were so many more problems, so many more things wrong so soon after the war. Peace was still just out of reach- would likely dangle there, taunting them, for all of eternity. "I suppose it'll be a somber occasion tonight, then."

Rhys's mouth quirked to one side, and something gave Cassian the impression he wasn't smiling at a joke from him. Or one that he could hear. He only replied, "I suppose so."

The meeting didn't last much longer after that, and wound up yielding to a chilled hangout session between the brothers. Cassian knew his mind wasn't there, though. And he wondered if the others' were.

**.oOo.**

It had been weeks, cooped up in the cold of the Illyrian mountains. Or almost weeks, anyways. Certainly days. And Nesta had run out of books.

Most of the ones she'd brought she'd read already anyways. But she'd read them all again. And then some of them again. And now she was bored of them.

She huffed a sigh through her nose and eased up from the blanket she had in the corner. The warmest blanket she could find as far away from the fire- that Cassian insisted kept burning- as she could get. She had no desire to freeze to death, and she was less than keen to hear the snapping sounds of the crackling flames. Dinners so close to it were far, far more than enough.

Walking across the creaky floorboards of the disgustingly bare, un-home-y hut, she reached for her cloak on the cabinet beside the door. She doubted there were any good books here for her to find, but she may as well at least look. Or wander aimlessly until she could no longer feel her fingers in the Illyrian cold.

Sensitive babies, she thought recalling the many times she'd heard her younger sister taunt the males with the remark. Well, perhaps they had sensitive egos, but they had to have next to no nerve endings to survive in a place like this. And their wings must have been made from steel.

She scowled at the air around her, as if to say _It's supposed to be summer here._ It was like the cold-hearted bastards of the camp just let their essence soak into the atmosphere, or something.

She spied a hut of a slightly different making ahead of her- not a home, but a store. She decided to aimlessly wander through there for a little while, on the off-chance it might be a tad warmer.

A bell sang out as she opened the door, and an Illyrian female behind the counter turned to smile grimly as she came in. Nesta did not smile back.

"Can I help you with anything?" the female asked, leaning forward onto her elbows.

"No," Nesta answered crisply. "I'm just here to look around."

The female smiled again, the expression crooked on her lips. "You're Cassian's-"

"I'm not anyone's anything," Nesta snapped, interrupting. To her surprise, the bitter retort only made the female smirk more.

"What I meant to say, is, you're the perfectly strong, independent female that Cassian brought with him to the camp."

Nesta didn't smile back at her. Just leveled a flat stare that showed her how little she cared. About any of it.

"Nesta, is it?" Emerie asked. Mischief in her dark brown eyes. When Nesta didn't deign to respond, she only went on with, "I'm Emerie."

"Friend of Cassian's?" Nesta didn't try to hide the bitter iciness of her tone.

Emerie spread her legs and shoulders in what Nesta could only assume to be a defensive stance. "I suppose it could be titled as that."

Irritation flared in Nesta's veins at the inference, and Emerie chuckled as if she could sense it. "Not in that way," she clarified. "He comes to the shop. He talks to me while he buys things." She shrugged. "I wouldn't think that you would care about _that,_ anyways."

Nesta glared. She hadn't intended the "reputation" she seemed to now have amongst the residents of Velaris, of the Night Court. She had simply been drinking one night at a trashy tavern, hoping to drown some of her thoughts beneath the piss-poor alcohol when she caught the stare of a male across the bar. Noticing her attention, he'd winked at her and gave her a roguish grin.

She'd wanted to snarl at him, that this was her body and if he was so keen to ogle something he should find a mirror. But something stopped her.

Because it wasn't her body. Not anymore, not really.

So she'd let the male have her. Let him use her body the way she knew he longed to, and after a few nights, she let another male do the same. A week later, there was another. Then another. Another.

She learned to find her own pleasure in it, learned to like it and wish for nothing else to distract her. So yes, maybe she was a bit of a... a "slut". But she hadn't intended to be.

Slut or no, though, she didn't care about Cassian. Especially not like that, and especially not when he made such an effort to avoid her. So she said, "I don't."

Emerie only said, "Hmm." And Nesta took that as an invitation to enter and look around by herself.

The bell rang again, and heavy Illyrian footsteps filled the store. Nesta could hear that already-intolerable smirk on Emerie's lips when she said, "Well, well, look who it is."

"Hey, Emerie," he panted. Nesta's spine locked up. Of course it was Cassian. "What's new in stock?"

Emerie chuckled. "I'd tell you about the new wing salve I finally got a hand on, but I doubt that'd be useful for you. Hard to reach by yourself, and all."

"Don't tease me," Cassian growled. "You know what I'm here for."

Nesta peeked around a rack of coats as Emerie sighed, ducking below the counter. She emerged with a sheet of paper, and placed it on the counter for Cassian to see before tapping a piece of it. Cassian's eyebrows rose.

"You have that much to spare?" he asked. 

"It's not to spare," Emerie said sharply. "A customer buys something, there's less in stock. Less for those highfalutin assholes around here."

Cassian shook his head. "You're crazy. This- that isn't even at full price."

"I removed the highfalutin-bastard tax," was all Emerie said, turning to grab a crate from by a door in the back. It must have been heavy, but she carried it over to the counter and set it down. "Need me to help deliver? There's quite a few more boxes."

Cassian shook his head in disbelief, still gaping at the paper. Then he came to and shook his head more presently. "I can take trips," he said. "Anyone else to focus on?"

"A few of the items have notes pinned to them," Emerie said simply. "The rest are free game. Go nuts."

Cassian inclined his head once in thanks, then hefted the crate into his arms. Nesta made a point not to look at the muscles there, visible despite the leathers. "I'll be back," he swore to Emerie before making his way out the door. Nesta didn't step into view until the bell had almost stopped ringing. Emerie looked over to her, unsurprised she had been listening.

"What was that?" Nesta asked. 

Emerie rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. "Charity. He's been buying out my loose supplies since Winter solstice."

Nesta frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It started with coats, a few blankets. Now it's anything he can get his hands on. And he gives it all away to the Illyrian poverty."

Nesta blinked. "All of it?"

Emerie smirked. "Like I said, anything he can get his hands on. I'm surprised you haven't noticed how empty his hut is, because I can tell you that some of the things he's given out were not new and did not come from me."

Nesta struggled to wrap her head around it.

She knew the Illyrians were brutal, and that a great many people here suffered worse than even she and her sisters across the wall. She also knew that, once upon a time, Cassian had been amongst them. It made sense, yet...

"I think the alcohol's the only thing from here he actually keeps," Emerie added with a snort. 

But Nesta wasn't listening. She was scanning the shelves. And Emerie only smirked when she placed the item down and said quietly, "You'll have to put it on his tab for now."


	3. Come For Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian convinces Nesta to fly to the House of Wind with him, not wanting her to be left out of the decisions of their Court.

Just a small box.

She supposed she was lucky Emerie had gotten a box for it at all, seeing as she wasn't really keen on just unceremoniously plunking it down and being done with it. Though it wasn't supposed to be some big display of emotion at all, either, so she'd make sure he didn't take it to be.

It was remarkable, really, Nesta thought. How similar they were when they were obviously complete opposites in every other way.

But they had both grown up in poverty, even if Cassian had begun there and Nesta had... been thrust into it. Neither of them had been able to do anything against it (though Cassian hadn't let anyone down in that regard). And then, rescued by someone who was, and always would be, better than they were. Even more ironic that those two people to save them also wound up as mates.

Nesta adjusted her coat as Illyrian wind whipped past, but didn't scowl and shudder in its presence this time. Just braved it, braved the walk home and the intrusion of thoughts that were far too much about him for her liking. 

Not that any of those thoughts mattered, of course, when she arrived back at the hut to see Cassian standing outside the door with a grim expression on his face, back from his rounds to the poor. And changed into his nicest pair of flying leathers, scuffed and torn though they still were.

Nesta stopped dead in her tracks. "What."

He attempted a lopsided smile, though even that seemed terse. "Out of the house for a bit?"

Nesta didn't reply. Stayed very, very still as she waited for the answer he would inevitably break down and give her.

He sighed, turning his head away to rub the back of his neck. "We're going to Velaris," he said, looking back to her.

Nesta's heart paused. "We-" She cut off, glanced around. Refused to let here eyes fall on the leathers- the flying leathers. "Where's Mor?"

Cassian grimaced. "She's not here, nor is she coming. She'll be at dinner, but she's been working with Az's spies, as far as I know, so she's already been winnowing all over the court today."

Nesta yielded a step, shaking her head. "I'm not flying." Not with you. Getting him that little box from Emerie, that was one thing. Even the waiting until now, until sundown, just to retrieve it and take it home. But to fly with him... to be in his arms, with his _wings..._

Something like pain flickered in Cassian's eyes as he took a step towards her, reached out a hand. "Nesta, please."

She straightened, unwilling to let him see her fear. "You can just leave me here. I'm sure I'll make out fine on my own for a night." The box- it was concealed in her sleeve for now, but it wouldn't stay that way. Could she slip it into her pocket, do up the button? Without him noticing it?

Cassian tried another one of those halfhearted grins. "You've flown before, with the others and with me. So what's different about it now?"

"The fact that I don't have to fly," she retorted. "You can leave me here and flap off on your own." Leave her here to have her own dinner, sitting in her corner away from the fire- or without the fire entirely. A settling silence without the crackling of the flames.

Cassian's face grew serious once more, as if that was his current default. "There's an important meeting tonight," he said. "We decided at the meeting with Rhys and Az today we wanted to put the vote to the whole court. You're a part of that court," he added quietly.

Nesta stilled once more. "I'm a _member_ of the court."

"Last I recall, Rhysand had you appointed as emissary of this court."

Nesta recoiled for only a moment before settling a scowl into place. She inched her hand for her pocket, and shame hit her like a cresting wave at Cassian's flinch. As if he expected her to be going for a weapon. "I haven't done a thing as emissary, nor has he asked me to. And you're not goading me into going to this, either way."

"They want you there," Cassian pleaded. They- Feyre and Elain. Fickle things, booting her from the city and begging her to return for dinner. "Come for them."

Nesta wanted to rage at those three words. _Come for them._ The only reason any of the members of that court had ever bothered with her- for them, the sisters she had failed and would always fail. Even Feyre really only cared for her for Elain, had never listened to hear Nesta's reasons for it all, for any of it. She had thought they grown closer after Feyre had first returned from Prythian, but...

But Feyre only needed someone strong enough to lean on, someone who understood enough to let her back to do what she needed, wanted, to do. And Nesta, she had thought...

She straightened, eyes back on Cassian. She slid both hands into her pockets and, as discreetly as possible, let the box slip out from her sleeve. "Fine," she bit out. "Drop me, or even pretend to drop me, and you're a dead male."

Cassian's smile was smaller this time, but more genuine, somehow. "I wouldn't dream of it, Nesta."

**.oOo.**

Gods, she was tense.

It was all Cassian could think about, the tautness of her body. He'd carried plenty of people- female and male, fae and human and lesser faerie- in his time. And he was okay with it, the awkwardness long since ebbed away. But this...

He had a feeling, from her numerous arguments to coming along at all, that she was not fond of flying. But he knew it was because of him, in part, too. So this flight, it was awkward.

She hissed at a patch of bumpy air, causing them both to wobble, and Cassian forced himself not to focus on the way her nails dug into his leathers at his shoulders, trying to hold on. 

"I told you I wouldn't drop you," he reminded her. Was he even holding her right? Was this how she felt safe?

"You told me you wouldn't do it on purpose," Nesta said, her voice raspy. 

Cassian chuckled at that. "Is five hundred years of experience not enough of a credential for you, sweetheart?"

Nesta scoffed, muttering something that appeared to curse the nickname, and Cassian grinned.

He hadn't planned to use her position in the court against her like that. Regretted it, for the emotions that had flashed in her eyes after he'd said it. But he never knew what to say with Nesta- he hadn't been born like that, like Rhys had, knowing what to say and still coming off suave. Sure, he could play to being smooth all he liked, but it didn't mean he was. And especially not with Nesta.

Rhys hadn't said Nesta was going to vote, but he doubted any of them would object to her sharing her opinion. Well... that wasn't entirely true, but Cassian could at least say he'd wallop anyone who tried to shut her down.

It was an important meeting, an important vote. He knew Nesta would see that as well as the others. But he also knew she'd be able to calculate, be able to work out the risks and the benefits and the loopholes. She would fit in so well with their court, if it weren't for her... people skills.

He swerved slightly again with the current, and Nesta loosed a yelp as she threw her arms back around his neck. He couldn't stop his chuckle, a guise to the warmth that spread through him at her vicinity.

"Mor better winnow us back," Nesta hissed into the side of his neck, and he tried not to let his breathing catch as her own breath warmed the sensitive skin there. "If we're sparing her the effort of winnowing us there."

"So unlike you to make compromises," Cassian quipped. "Though I suppose you did try to bypass this option originally." Nesta only growled into his leathers. Clearing his throat- and his mind- he went on, "I guess the main point is that you have to rely on yourself, sometimes, hmm?"

Something sparked in Nesta's stormy eyes as she lifted her head, glaring as viciously as ever. "Last I checked, I was still relying on you."

"Same difference," Cassian said, waiting to see that objection and fiery temper he loved so. Instead, Nesta only deepened her glare and moved her face out of his view. He frowned after her, but said nothing. He'd expected her to take the bait on that one.

She remained silent throughout most of the flight, and Cassian took the time to think again.

What Nesta had been through was different to what Feyre had been through. Plus they were different people- so bound to react differently. Yet even after everything Feyre had been through, Under the Mountain all that time ago, Rhys had healed her. Within months of her joining him in Velaris, she had been healed. Nesta had only been in the Steppes for a few weeks, but still... still...

Cassian forced his mind away, forced himself to stop making those comparisons. It was never a good thing when he started to compare himself to his brother, he'd learned. It never seemed to end well for his mind.

They finally arrived in Velaris, and he could have sworn he heard Nesta sigh in relief at the sight. Even so, her body grew tenser as they drew closer to the House of Wind.

He came down hard on the balcony, and Nesta scrambled out of his arms as if she couldn't distance herself fast enough. Again, that barely-there sigh when he tucked his wings away behind his back.

"It looks like we're the first ones here," Cassian said, peering through the window on the doors to see Amren seated on the back of the couch with a bottle and a death glare. Mor sat behind her with an even nicer bottle, waving a finger in front of her as if to say shh. He cleared his throat, turning back to Nesta. "You can warm up in the sun for a minute if you want. I'm sorry if the wind affected you."

For a minute, Nesta didn't say anything, likely thinking of the heat of summer here in Velaris compared to the bite of the Illyrian Steppes. Then she asked, "How come you can't winnow?"

The question took Cassian aback for a moment. "It's not one of my abilities" was all he could think to say, heat rising to his cheeks. 

"The Siphons can't grant you that power?" she asked, throwing a pointed glance to the Siphons on the backs of his hands. One of her own hands slipped back into her pocket again.

He held them up to examine them, putting them on ample display for the both of them. "They filter the power I do have, and yes, they do make me able to do a lot of things I couldn't do otherwise," he confessed. Like... like anything that he did in comparison to the cloud of death he would summon without their help. "But winnowing... winnowing was never in my repertoire." 

Nesta nodded, seemingly sated with his answer, then turned to look out over Velaris. With hollow, empty eyes, as if she saw none of it for what it was. 

"I can go out," she said, and Cassian noted the bob of her throat as she said the words. "To the city. While you have your meeting."

"I told you," he said softly- softer than usual, even for her. "You get to be a part of this decision, too."

Her eyes dropped down, to the streets directly below. "Get to be. So I wasn't invited- for that purpose."

Cassian winced slightly. "It... wasn't specified." 

Nesta said nothing more. No show of emotion to the words.

Cassian would have said something more to her, but three winged figures appeared in the skies over where the Estate was, one of them carrying a fourth figure in their arms. Rhys, Feyre, Azriel and Elain.

"You sure you still want me here?" Nesta said, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. He didn't think he was imagining the strain in her voice as she said the words.

"Of course," Cassian said, far more lightly than he longed to. _Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I'll try to be a bit more prompt, but my schedule's more hectic than it's ever been, and I've gone a week now without even having time for lunch, so...
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	4. Plannings and Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inner Circle holds a meeting. Nesta knows she isn't wanted.

Nesta could feel the tension in the air.

The sounds of chewing and forks scraping against plates was virtually the only sound for much of the meal, as if nothing anybody had to say held any weight with her there. Cassian had been wrong; wrong to bring her, and wrong to tell her she was wanted here. He should have left her at the Steppes.

Feyre's eyes had lit with surprise upon seeing Nesta, and she'd stepped forward cautiously, as if not wanting to embrace her. "Nesta," she'd said, making it clear in her tone it had not been _her_ idea to invite her. "You- you came! How's everything going?"

 _How's everything going._ As if Nesta had gone off for a relaxing vacation rather than being packed away to the Steppes.

She'd responded with a clipped _fine_ and was lucky not to be pounced on by Feyre's bodyguard of a mate. The single syllable, apparently, was enough to make it clear to her that he hadn't sent the invite, either.

Damned Cassian.

Rhysand cleared his throat- finally- and set down his fork. Attention went to him immediately- a rarity that proved how truly uncomfortable the dinner had been thus far.

"There's a bit more of a reason to this gathering tonight," he began, "not that it isn't wonderful to have all of us together once more."

He smiled around the table, receiving the same manner of smiles in return. His eyes skimmed right over Nesta.

"The three of us," he went on, gesturing to himself and the two Illyrians, "Had a meeting this afternoon. And we thought we'd put some of the decisions we have looming to the rest of the court."

Elain was the next to place down her fork, devoting all her attention to the High Lord. "What's the matter?"

Rhysand rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. "Many of the Day Court inhabitants have been going missing for some time now," he said. "A lot of the blame has been placed on Helion for it, though he swears his innocence. Whoever's really been taking them has had some shrewd methods."

"What do you mean, _whoever's really been taking them?"_ Nesta blurted with a scowl. All eyes were on her much too quickly. "If there's no evidence against him, there's no evidence _for_ him, is there? So he's still a suspect, no matter how well you know him."

 _"How well we know him_ is what helped saved our asses in the war," Mor pointed out, a sharp bite behind her words.

Nesta did nothing to hide her flinch- _could_ do nothing. Less than ten sentences into their discussion and everything was already set for hell. Lovely.

"I only meant," Nesta said, as gently as she could manage, "that we need to look at all the possibilities." 

"Do you have the profiles he sent over yet?" Feyre asked Rhysand, her hand resting on his thigh under the table. Simply ignoring Nesta, as to be expected.

Rhysand nodded. "They're back at the Estate- just pictures of them, and information about them. Where they were last seen."

"Most of which were last seen being led to bed by the High Lord himself," Azriel piped up, shadows skittering over his face. "He claims to have seen them all out the following day, but many family members say they didn't see them again afterwards." 

Nesta bit down the response that many of the signs did point to it being Helion. It could still just be whoever someone else wanted them to think.

"What's our role in this?" Amren asked, twirling a chunk of lamb in the air above her plate. A bored expression in her eyes, which were pointedly directed away from Nesta.

Rhysand shook his head. "We don't know much yet. We want to help him figure it out, but depending on our vote on the next discussion, we might have our spies otherwise occupied."

"Cauldron, could've started with that part, then," Mor muttered, mouth full.

Paying her no mind, Rhys continued, "Elain, you have a bit of information on Vassa and her... _handler,_ do you not?"

Elain turned red, and Nesta's first impulse screamed at her to snap at Rhys. Defend the sister that had always needed the defending. Only... she _didn't_ need it now. Not from her.

Still blushing, Elain murmured, "Not a lot. Lucien only said a few things when he visited."

Still the male and his visits. As if he hadn't yet accepted that _Elain did not want him as her mate._ Nesta's hands made fists around her knife and fork.

Elain went on, "He said that the handler- Koschei- has been sending some of his other prisoners, more tightly bound by the curse, still, as messengers. To visit Vassa, and the others. He said it's been happening more and more often." 

Rhysand's bedroom eyes darkened. "Did he say what the messengers had been saying, doing?"

Elain shook her head. "He didn't say much, really... it's not what he came to talk about, anyways." Down the table from her, Azriel's shadows flared.

"So, we don't have information." Mor began to refill her glass of wine. "We do what we always do; we get some. We ask the Band of Exiles to a little meeting."

"That's too risky," Cassian pointed out. "He'll likely know everything we say. And he'll definitely know that we're asking- know that we know he's up to something."

Mor frowned. "I say it's a necessary risk." 

"I think I could get a bit more information from Lucien," Elain added quickly. Her cheeks turned red once again- from shame, this time, Nesta noted. Her sweet, innocent younger sister, ashamed of her willingness to use the male in such a way when he was so obviously infatuated with her. "That way we might not need a meeting." 

"That comes with its own challenges," Amren pointed out. "Maybe it's better for us to give them an alibi in an official meeting rather than let him come to whatever conclusions he pleases. The repercussions would likely be more acceptable." 

"I like that plan," Feyre said with a frown. "We can plan it. We can be careful."

Nesta noticed several of the eyes at the table falling to her- as if her say in this would matter at all. She shifted slightly in her seat. And she cautiously stated her own opinion, though she knew it wouldn't matter to them.

"I think with someone like Koschei, who has enslaved so many young... _people... "_ She cleared her throat. "A lot of things could go wrong. Things that, if events before today are to be any indication, we could have no way of predicting or planning our way out of. So I say no. I say spies, and secrecy. Not a meeting."

She felt Cassian's eyes on her across the table, but looked instead at everyone else. At the people who would, ultimately, be making this decision.

Feyre and Rhysand shared a look.

"They're both sound reasonings," Feyre said softly. Nesta wanted to throttle her for it. And she hated herself for that. "But... the majority says meeting." 

"So have a meeting," Nesta said. "Have a meeting, and pay the price. That's what you do when you take a risk. You pay the price afterwards. Like you did in killing that wolf in the forest."

The answering snarl that tore from Rhysand was more terrifying than any animal could be, human or faerie, but Nesta forced herself to remain level as she looked him in the eyes. Let him kill her for it. Let that rippling darkness swallow her whole and wipe her away forever.

"Rhys," Feyre said gently. Nesta could practically feel it as her true words went traveling down the bond. Surely reaffirming that the prices she'd paid were worth it- that no matter the _collateral_ those piece-of-shit Hybernians asked of her, she wouldn't regret a second of it. Sure enough, Rhysand backed down half a moment later.

"We'll hold the meeting next week," was all he said.

The table returned to the idle chatter and overall eerie silence after that, and the rest of Nesta's food remained untouched. She couldn't be bothered to argue when Cassian held his arms out to her again after dinner. And she didn't speak as they flew back, landed home, and went inside to light the fire.

She only slid the box from her pocket under a loose floorboard beneath her bed and lay down in the dark, pretending the snapping of the fire was her own bones splintering like she deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, I did another chapter! *self pride* I hope it turned out okay, I kept writing "Rhys" instead of "Rhysand" XD
> 
> And I meant to tell you all this last time, but I actually have a Tumblr account now, if anyone wants to find me there! Come see @rebellesong and trash on Nessian with me <3


	5. Broken Puzzle Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta battles nightmares, and Cassian wakes from something far stranger.

The dream had returned to haunt her again.

Not the horrible nightmares of the Cauldron that had her near-screaming as she woke, gasping for breath, and not the heart wrenching lies of dreams where she watched as Rhysand dragged her now-fae baby sister from the house and Elain was beaten into sobs by her own mate. This dream was nowhere near as frantic, but it remained high on her list of the worst recurring dreams immortality had left her with.

This dream played like a montage, and it showed her father.

She saw him in her childhood, back when he'd made at least some semblance of an effort. Back before the debtors shattered his leg, before she chose Elain over him and he chose his stupid little wood carvings over her.

She saw him in her adolescence, in that hovel they called home while Feyre selflessly saved them all and she went on hating him with a passion. Those hazy days she'd hated _everything_ with a passion, everyone but Elain- save for Tomas Mandray, who'd proved to be a dire mistake anyways.

She saw him in her adult days, after Feyre had been taken away and their wealth had mysteriously reappeared- those days when he was blissfully unaware the youngest daughter he'd near crawled for had so much at stake. When he'd been back to what he loved and back to who he used to be, when Nesta realised he'd never really done much to care for them afterall. 

Then she saw him in her fae days. In the war- when she'd seen from the sky, from Cassian's arms, as his armada came sailing towards the shore. As Drakon had rattled off praise for the mysterious merchant, and as she'd spied him at the helm of the ship named _The Nesta._

The worst parts of the dream were always the bits that came next. When Hybern had used him as a human shield- forced him to see, without knowing how or why, what had been done to her. And still he'd said those things. Said that he loved her, and that he was sorry. And had tried- finally tried- to protect her. And Hybern had snapped his neck.

That snap. That sound echoed for hours, it sang in the fireplaces and howled through the mountain passes. It haunted her waking and her sleeping and left her with a broken puzzle piece that no longer fit anywhere, an unrested mind that didn't know who her father had really been and how she felt about him now he was gone.

She had been lost in a killing rage at the time, and then lost in her pain for Cassian- but she had come back, to his body. Come back with Feyre and Elain, too. And it was Feyre's prayer that made the soundtrack for the hazy montage, as the entirety of it played over and over.

_Mother hold you  
Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey  
Fear no evil  
Feel no pain  
Go, and enter eternity_

Nesta heard the prayer to herself, sometimes, too, though she knew they likely wouldn't care enough to recite it should she die. But they had happened, those things uttered in it. An immortal land- an eternity. Not a prayer, for her, but a curse.

She watched the light fade from her father's eyes. Watched that puzzle piece of her identity fracture and shatter into pieces, burned to ash along with his broken body. 

She wished Feyre had burned her, too.

**.oOo.**

Cassian blinked into the darkness.

It was the middle of the night- too early to rise, even for him. He hadn't been roused by noises, hadn't been roused by nightmares, hadn't been roused by magic. So he must have only been roused by his own thoughts.  
He sighed, wings shifting as he rolled over.

They had decided on holding a meeting, at the dinner. Nesta had been more civilised about it than he expected- had even sided with him, the only one to really do so. But they had both lost, and what Nesta had said after that...

Cassian wasn't sure what to make of it all, or even what to make of Rhysand's feral snarl that followed. He wasn't usually _quite_ that protective of Feyre- at least, not since those days when they'd first mated. But had Nesta provoked her sister because she was still sore about being trapped in the Steppes with Cassian? Or had it not really been about Feyre at all?

Cassian's head hurt thinking about it. Groaning softly, he rolled over again. And then... he felt it.

A sharp ache, piercing his chest and spreading outwards. A hollowing, decaying pain in his heart, as if it emptied him out and tied him up tight so there was nothing left to breathe. No room for it.

One hand pressed to his chest, he struggled into sitting. It wasn't a physical pain- not really. It was the kind of pain you got from grief and loss and misery, that made you feel like something was missing from you and you'd never be right again. He wasn't unfamiliar with it; but he wasn't expecting it, either. He hadn't had a nightmare to bring it on... 

The phantom heart pain surged, and Cassian felt tears burn his eyes. But why? Why did he hurt, why did he feel the nonsensical urge just to burst into tears and let sleep come to claim him again? Why was he not just... fine?

A tear slid free of his eye, running down his cheek, and he wiped it away in confusion. Glanced at his now-damp fingertips, shaking slightly from some emotion that did not appear to be his own.

Was this some strange twist on the random night terrors that had lately begun to ease, ever so slightly? Some remnant of the wars passed that made him feel cold and empty and alone in life, that made him want to curl up on his side and sob into the pillows until he was emptier still?

He stared up at the ceiling, into the darkness, and let that decay fester, eat away at his soul. His only hope, not that he would shake the feeling, but that it was not a harbinger for whatever results the meeting was to reap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! Comment below and I'm also on Tumblr as @rebellesong


	6. Alibi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian, Rhys and Feyre call a meeting with The Band of Exiles, and Nesta's presence leads to an interesting effect.

Cassian hadn't been in a meeting this tense for a good long while. 

Lucien was silent and almost twitchy where he sat, Vassa looking nothing but bored beside him. And beside her was a pale-skinned, dark-haired girl with periwinkle-and-white feathers adorning her hands, her temples, like jewelry. Koschei's messenger, and the cause not just for the tension in the meeting, but the meeting itself.

"It's been a while since we last met," Feyre said at last, flashing the trio a charismatic grin. "All is well, I assume? You don't need anything?"

"Not why we called this meeting," Vassa said wryly, "seeing as we didn't call it in the first place." 

Cassian chuckled, then jerked his chin towards the girl with the periwinkle feathers. "Who's your friend?" 

Vassa raised an eyebrow. "Things not working out with you and the witch?"

 _She's not a witch,_ Cassian wanted to roar, sick of the slur so often hurled after Nesta. But he was meant to behave.

Luckily, Vassa chuckled and shook her head before he had a chance to reply. "No need to dredge up all your deepest feelings, general. This is Cuhena." 

Cuhena bowed her head in greeting. "An honor to meet you- all of you." 

"I return the sentiment," Rhys said, wearing one of those soft, friendly smiles he had only recently begun to use for political uses like this. "And what brings you to the continent, free of your master's leash?" 

A friendly question that could, depending on Koschei's intentions, make or break a lot of things.

"Koschei freed me long enough to visit my sister," Cuhena explained, laying a hand on Vassa's arm. "It's not for long. I am expected to return to him before the moon cycles." 

"She's good company," Vassa agreed, smiling at her. "Makes for a pretty face amongst us. Aside from you, Lucien."

"So it's just Jurian you need a break from?" Lucien asked dryly. Even he wore the hint of a smile, and it hit Cassian like a spear to the chest.

Lucien, still smiling. He had to have someone respect for the male, after all he'd endured- after his hell of life in the Autumn Court, his mistake of life in the Spring Court, his obvious rejection by his own mate. 

But Elain was happy, even if she did dislike her mate. _Elain_ was happy.

"Sounds like life must be good with you, then," Feyre said, laughing.

Vassa and Cuhena shared a look. 

"Assuming it isn't with you, if you called us here?" Cuhena asked.

Cassian dropped a stack of files on the table between them, grateful for the easy alibi. "A lot of inhabitants of the Day Court have been going missing lately. Helion sent us some files... we'd like you to keep an eye out for them, and help work out where they've gone, if you can."

All three reached for the files, picking up various ones to skim over. Lucien's magic eye whirred as it scanned over line after line.

"What do you know so far?" he asked. 

"A lot of the blame has gone to Helion," Cassian recited. "Many of the missing people went to bed with him at some point before their last sighting... some weren't seen again at all after that. He pleads innocence, of course, and we believe him, but..." 

"There's no evidence either way," Lucien finished.

"He will be innocent," Feyre said firmly. "He would never do anything to hurt another person like this. We just need to help him." 

Cassian shot her a look that asked _When did you get so cosy with Helion?_ but now was not the time to answer it. She had likely been told all sorts of wacky tales from Rhys, seeing as he and Helion were, like, best-buddy-High-Lords, or something like that. 

"And did you call on us because we're another set of eyes, spread across the Court?" Lucien asked quietly. "Or because you still want me as your emissary?"

"We called on you because we want to find whoever's behind this," Feyre said. "Because the war's over, and we want to have justice now. But if you want to help us further, as our emissary, you're more than welcome to."

Lucien sat back in his chair. "And what would that entail?"

"It might be a good idea to get a pair of eyes in the Day Court," Cassian suggested. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhys and Feyre go rigid. "Feel out Helion, as neutral as possible... see if you can find anything out of the ordinary."

"Are you asking me to whore myself out to him and see if anything bad happens to me?" Lucien asked sharply.

"No!" Feyre and Rhys both yelped. Feyre shook her head. "No. Just go... visit. Take a look around. If you want- it's your choice. You get to choose." 

Lucien gave her a funny look, then sighed, shaking his head. "I'll do it. Helion's a good enough male... I met him a few times when I worked for the Spring Court. I'll see what I can do." 

Feyre nodded, seemingly relieved. Cassian shot her and Rhys a funny look of his own, questioning what kind of problem they had with Lucien going to see Helion, but once again left the questions for later.

"We can just keep an eye out around where we are," Vassa said. "Though I don't suppose it will help, if they're only disappearing from the Day Court." 

"There'll be a reason for it," Rhys said bitterly. "Let us know if you have any idea why. Otherwise just watch out." 

Silence hovered over them, and Cassian fought for a way to segue back into the topic of Koschei without seeming suspicious. They had their alibi laid out; they only wanted to talk about the Day Court. But now, getting back to the topic they'd _really_ wanted to talk about...

Their heads turned as the door to the hut opened, and Cassian didn't know if he should be concerned or relieved to see Nesta walking through the door.

"Do you have any money?" she asked him, no hello.

"Hey, Nesta," Cassian said with a smile, trying to ease the sharp, brittle edges he sensed limning her body. "Found something around here?"

"Emerie found an old book she said I could have," she said simply. "And she said your tab's getting a bit full."

Cassian blinked in surprise. He hadn't realised Nesta was acquainted with Emerie, and took it as a good sign that the camp was still standing. Perhaps they'd become friends, then.

He chuckled. "It's been a while since I paid off the tab, huh?" Though if he knew Emerie as well as he thought he did, that tab had nothing to do with it. At least, not as much as it did with watching the sparks fly as she forced Nesta and Cassian to interact again. _Minx._ It was no wonder the females had become friends.

He was distracted from the task of jamming his hands into the too-small pockets of his leathers by a gasp at the table. The attention went to Cuhena, staring at Nesta with eyes as wide as saucers. The colour had drained from her skin, and she moved her mouth as if unable to form words.

"Cuhena?" Vassa asked. "What's the matter? Is he calling you back already?" 

Not shaking or nodding her head, Cuhena tried to speak again- tried to gesture. The only cohesive word she uttered was _"But... but..."_

Nesta straightened, facing the female with a stony irritation. She said nothing, only waited. Let Cuhena watch her.

An extra feather sprouted on the side of Cuhena's temple, then another, then another. A puff of light mist had a bird in the female's place, looking for all the world like Vassa's firebird if it weren't for the silver and pewter feathers. A few flaps of its wings, appearing frantic, had the creature engulfed in a second spray of the mist, and disappearing entirely. Stunned silence gripped the room.

"Koschei must have called her back," Vassa murmured, almost dazed.

"And what did that have to do with me?" Nesta snapped, shoulders tensing further.

"Perhaps your power intimidated her," Lucien suggested lowly.

That wasn't it, Cassian wanted to say. But he didn't, because- well, what else could it be? What had just happened?

"You can tell Emerie that I'll set up a tab for you, Nesta," Rhys said quietly. A dismissal.

She straightened once more, whirling to face him, then pressed her lips into a tight line and nodded sharply. Before Cassian could say a word, she was stalking for the door and stepping back out into the night.

"Even I could feel her power," Vassa commented breathily once Nesta was gone. "She has... She.... Does anybody know what she is?"

"She is High Fae," Feyre said firmly. "Once a human. Just like I am." 

"Something different prowls beneath her skin," Vassa murmured.

Amren had said the same thing once, Cassian remembered. _We are the same, you and I._ He still hadn't deciphered what she'd meant by that.

"So Koschei can just summon you back like that?" he asked Vassa.

She nodded. "He hasn't had me return yet, though I don't doubt he's at least mulled it over."

The conversation finally steered back to their true interest, Koschei, Cassian should have felt relieved. Instead he felt something churning in his gut- and again, that spearing through his chest he couldn't possibly recognise. But he forced his mind away from whatever it was currently prowling under _his_ skin, and got the information he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering how I pictured Cuhena, think of the animated video for Imagine Dragons song Birds (www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOXZkm9p_zY), sort of. And it didn't really come up, but this was set at nighttime, which is why Vassa is in her human form. Anyways, hopefully see you again within the next week! ^.^


	7. Turn Back Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerie poses Nesta a question while she seeks refuge from the tug inside, and from the meeting she was dismissed from. She feels nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A! Court! Of! Silver! Flames! We have a name and I am FIT TO BURSTING!!! This story will keep its current name, but I have plans to try and work predictions for THAT title into here as well now...!!!  
> What's your number one acosf theory? If anybody has one on what you think is in the box/who you think Cassian saw the Bone Carver as, I'm SHOCKED by the fact you haven't already commented- though I'll forgive that audacity. All other theories are always welcome :)

She stopped feeling the cold.

The bite of the night air was distant, harassing some other body that was not her own. Even less her own than usual. It was like that, she thought, constantly getting further from reach. It had felt alien enough as a human, more so as fae, and now this new level. She was glad she didn't feel anymore. Glad her soul was leaving her.

The cheery tone of the bell didn't reach the normally-irritated part of her as she entered the shop, nor did the blast of warm air from within. She forced her eyes to take in Emerie, still standing expectantly at the counter. Forced her body into posture and forced herself to look as if she was still in there.

"Rhysand said to set up a tab for me," she said simply.

"Planning on staying a while longer?" Emerie asked, eyebrows raised.

Nesta didn't scowl. Only said, "I don't get to plan for anything."

Emerie's mouth quirked to the side a little. "Females tend to get treated that way here." 

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Oh, I know that's not what you're saying. I just figured I'd say it anyways." Emerie fussed around the counter, her wings tucking in tight to avoid bumping anything. Nesta eyed the deep scars in the membrane. And despite being so distant, so without feeling and care...

"They clipped you," she said, coming to the counter.

Going still, Emerie looked over her shoulder. Then resumed her fussing. "Cauldron, you're quick."

Ignoring the barb that didn't reach her anymore anyways, Nesta cocked her head, leaning over to better examine them. "That one little cut. It stops you from flying?"

"Completely and entirely," Emerie confirmed. "And obviously, we're Illyrians, so when we're grounded we've got nothing better to do than fuck and punch out heirs. We can't be civilised or _mortal,_ Cauldron forbid."

For a moment, Nesta wanted to ask why Emerie would want to be mortal. But instead, she just said, "You could get a healer. Or you could see the one we have in... Feyre's estate," she finished, unsure if she was meant to mention Velaris. "She fixed Cassian's wings, twice. And his were shredded. Both times."

Both times because of her, she didn't need to mention. It was enough for her to relive it night after night, the screams, the gush of blood, the crunch of bone. Any memories of which were now displayed only in the faint, utterly normal-looking scars on the membrane. But his wings...

She was like a bad omen to them. To _him._ Being near him, them, was enough. She could pretend they weren't there, tucked away like Rhysand's where nothing would happen to them. It was harder to pretend if they flew, his wings spread out and catching the wind in ways it was a miracle they could. It made her stomach twist, the sight of them, that brought back all the memories.

Emerie whistled. "We heard stories, of his wings, him in the war," she said. A pointed look with a mischievous eye-gleam that Nesta knew referred to her- her role in Cassian's injuries, no doubt. "But it won't work that way for me. They healed the scars in place."

"So find someone who can un-heal them," Nesta said flatly. She wasn't joking.

Still, Emerie chuckled. "We can kill, and we can maim," she said. "But we can't _un-heal._ We can't turn back time, only alter the future."

"Pity," Nesta muttered. She reached for the book Emerie was about to hand her.

But Emerie froze, her hands still on the book. "What would you do," she mused. "If you could. Turn back time, I mean."

Nesta stopped, thought for a moment.

She could ask that she never be turned immortal, that she and Elain remained safe in the mortal lands, but... war had fallen. They would have been killed. And Elain was happy now anyways. She could ask that Feyre had never been taken, but Feyre was happy now, too, with her damned fae mate- and besides, they would have remained in their hovel of a house, and Amarantha likely would have devoured all of Prythian.

"The consequences to anything are endless," she said slowly.

Emerie snorted. "How fucking philosophical of you. No shit, there are always consequences. But you _risk_ things that are worth it, if you know _anything_ about life."

No, she didn't, Nesta wanted to say. She'd lived a mere twenty four years to however many _thousand_ this female had. But her brain was ticking, searching for loopholes.

"Maybe I just wish I'd never been here," she suggested drily. "No harm done, right?"

It would have no impact in life before Feyre was taken, except for more food and coin for Elain. No one would have gone to rescue Feyre, but a fat lot of good that had done her anyways. And she would have come back as a fae, so many months later with her little menagerie of bat-winged teenagers, and Elain would have housed the queens and had the book gifted to her for being a little fucking ray of sunshine so they could all save the world. And maybe Elain would still have been taken, and would still have been doted over by every creature that ever laid eyes on her, and her life would be fine. She'd never know she was missing anything- because she wouldn't be.

"Sure thing," Emerie said, in an I-know-you're-joking-but-I'll-just-go-with-it kind of way. "I'd definitely wish for the wings, though. I would've kicked some ass in the war if they'd have let me." Finally, she slid the book across the counter. "You good to go back?"

Tracing the patterns on the cover with her fingers, Nesta sighed. "I think they're still having their meeting." Not welcome in the only place that came close these days to being called home. Deja vu much.

"Go read over there, then." Emerie jerked her chin towards a chair in the corner of the store. "I'm sure Cass will come searching for you once the others leave."

Nesta didn't say anything, just did as Emerie suggested. 

_Cass will come searching._

She was still waiting for him to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have written three chapters at, like, four in the morning, so maybe I'll try to actually post them on time for a little while. In my defense, I woke up to Cassian's phantom pains with a very real and very regular cause, and writing three chapters worth of my babies being sad is a good outlet.


	8. Advisor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian talks to Emerie and gets angsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Either I'm in a sarcastic place of mind right now or this chapter is complete shit, so proceed with caution. A lot of angsty fuck.

He found her asleep in Emerie's store.

Emerie only had a snorted, "About time," and a jerk of her thumb without looking up to offer him, but he wasn't here for her this time. He'd come looking for the brassy-haired fae sleeping with her head against the shelves in the corner of the room.

The meeting had stalled considerably after Nesta's arrival and Cuhena's subsequent departure, and he hadn't stopped thinking about her since. Wondering what it was that had triggered Cuhena (or Koschei) so damned much that she morphed into a bird and straight-up disappeared without warning. As was usual for him, he came up with nothing.

Now, he closed the distance between them and lowered to kneeling in front of her chair. Cauldron, she looked peaceful when she slept. Not happy, as he'd heard people describe. But less... strained, somehow. Though he'd never thought of her as looking strained when she was awake. He debated brushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Emerie called out in a low voice from the front. "I know what you're thinking, loverboy, and I'm telling you, it's not gonna happen. Not the way you're picturing it."

Cassian partly wanted to snarl at her, but hey, she wasn't wrong. Waking Nesta might be best thought over first- especially if he was going to touch her.

So he got back to his feet, and walked back over towards Emerie. "What would you do, then?"

A small smirk danced on her lips. "What, if I was hopelessly in love with someone who wasn't in the best place?"

Cassian growled. Cauldron, if she woke at their voices, and- and _heard-_

"Well," Emerie continued, tapping her chin, "I'd probably need advice from my generous and intelligent friend. And since she's not running a damned counsellors office, I might buy something to show her how much I appreciate it." She raised her eyebrows a little.

Muttering vulgarities, Cassian snatched a blanket from the nearest rack. "Emerie."

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise. Let me get that for you, good sir." She flashed him a too-wide smile that set him grinding his teeth as she took the blanket from his hands. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, my good-natured and attractive advisor. Well, I'd talk to her about my situation, for starters. Maybe tell her something that's actually important and relevant instead of leaving her to connect the dots without _drawing in_ all the fucking dots. Then she _might_ have something to say."

"And if you told her you didn't have the time or the patience and you were going to walk out of her not-counsellors-office if she didn't give you a straight answer?"

She smiled. "She'd probably tell me to get my priorities straight and come back later."

Cassian huffed a sigh. "Tell me something useful before I carry her home."

"I don't think you're telling _yourself_ everything, Cass. I think you need to start realising shit before you try to spill it all for me. So that's my current advice." She paused. "And maybe get her to do the same. I might not be gifted with sparkling stones and super-fancy magic like you are, but I can tell when something's off in a person. And I think it goes deeper than you realise in her."

Cassian paused too, then nodded. Though he wasn't sure how in hell he was ever going to broach the subject. 

"I'd put this on your tab," Emerie added, gesturing to the blanket, "but I'm afraid it's full! Got anything for me, Commander?"

Cassian released another slew of profanities, and the female's eyes glittered. "Put it on Nesta's new tab."

"Bad move for a prospective courter," she tutted, doing as he requested anyways.

"Rhysand said he'd pay her tab. Besides, it's for her anyways." Not waiting for Emerie to finish, he grabbed the blanket and returned to Nesta, feet cat-soft on the ground lest it wake her. He draped the blanket over her and slowly, carefully scooped her into his arms. She stirred slightly, as if in alarm, and then seemed to subconsciously relax. His heart clenched and he forced himself not to acknowledge the feeling.

Even Emerie's smile was soft on her harsh face, eyebrows still slightly raised as she took them in. "That's your problem, just so you know," she said quietly. "Not acknowledging it. Giving in to your fears is the easiest way to let them control you."

He wasn't afraid. How did she know what he'd been thinking? He didn't speak.

"Don't forget her book" was all Emerie said to fill the silence. "If you want to keep your favourite part. And then get out and let me go home."

Carrying the book aside him on a red-tinged wind, Cassian opened his mouth to thank her for staying here, staying open, to give Nesta a place to go. But he closed it again, nodded, and edged his way out the door, trying not to trip the bell.

**.oOo.**

He didn't expect to wake, that night. Not when he was so tired from the day's training, the night meeting, the encounter with Emerie and Nesta. But he opened his eyes to utter darkness and a hollow ache he could still remember from before.

Once again, his mind raced to find a reason for it, and once again, he came up empty. Empty-handed and empty-hearted, as it felt.

He didn't fight the tears that slid free, nor the urge to roll over and curl his knees to his chest like he had when he'd been a kid, and the collapsing inside him had been too much to bear. Still, he wondered, his mind stunningly clear compared to the fogged chamber of grief inside his chest. His breathing was ragged, the closest he could convince his body to come to silence.

Maybe it wasn't emotional, really. Maybe it was a disease. All kinds of creatures came down with all varieties of those all the time. Not uncommon- unlike random bouts of untriggered emotional trauma in the middle of the night. Yes, that was it. A little metaphorical worm that lived in his mind and pulled at his heart strings like a damned puppeteer.

So he was sick, maybe. A sickness that felt like a rope, bonded around his heart and squeezing it dry. Dry of feeling- giving him the worst of pain, and rewarding his endurance with a void of emptiness. He couldn't tell which he preferred.

But he didn't have to. He just had to lay in the dark, and tell himself he was sick, and he'd get better, and it only happened at night anyways. He could feel broken all he wanted because it didn't make it true. And he'd be okay.  
Eventually.

And so he lay in the dark, and let himself cry, and he wished it would all go away so he could feel whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pleeeeeaaase leave me comments ily


	9. Disease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple revelation beyond those phantom pains threatens to turn Cassian's world upside down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments- they mean the world to me! Again, you can find me on Tumblr (rebellesong), and you can now also reach me on Instagram (rebelle_wing).

It didn't go away.

Well. It did, but it didn't _stay_ away, which was kind of an important part. Every morning he'd wake up just the same, like nothing had happened and everything was fine, exactly how it should have been. And he went through his day, tried not to feel utterly ridiculous as he made a point to think about his feelings, per Emerie's suggestion (which hopefully was not just a new way to tease him) and tried to get Nesta to maybe do the same. Went to bed, and fell asleep, and everything was okay. No nightmares. And then BAM. Pain.

He didn't understand it. Didn't know how he'd _talk_ about it, of all things, so he didn't bring it up. And every night, in that dark, when his feelings-that-weren't-really-his- _surely_ were apparent enough he didn't need to waste time thinking about them, he'd wrack his brains and wonder what in hell was wrong with him.

It had been going on for about a week and a half- maybe two- the night something shifted. Because as he lay still, going over mental illnesses and magical banes in his mind, he heard the abrupt rustle of blankets and the sound of a choked sob.

Nesta.

His blood froze as he realised she was crying, and then it melted and flowed through him like a tidal wave.

She wasn't okay, she hadn't been okay- hanging out with Emerie hadn't helped her. He'd been too absorbed to even notice. And she was crying, alone in bed at night- stoic, proud, fearless Nesta Archeron, a queen in every right from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. His Nesta, who would probably hate to hear him call her that, and he didn't deserve to anyways.

But _Nesta._

He'd known it had been bad- on some level, at least. But it hadn't _truly_ hit him until then. The icy indifference was one thing, and _crying_ was completely different. So much, so much worse... or he'd just been that blind, that it had taken that to open his eyes.

His heart hurt, and it wasn't that phantom feeling anymore. And then it was, and he heard her again, and something surfaced, a single thought in the unreachable center of his head.

Maybe it wasn't a disease, had never been a disease. Maybe it had been Nesta.

He didn't hear her again, but he knew she was there, and he was starting to become almost positive that the surging ache in his chest was coming from her. Somehow. As if... as if... as if his soul knew that hers hurt. As if it felt the same pain, almost as if twin to hers. Matching.

His eyes widened in the black of night. He sat up, the feeling following him still- clinging, tied. _Bonded._

Holy burning hell.

He hung his head between his knees, breathing heavily. It was all in his head. All in his mind. Not a disease exactly, but more like an illusion-

What in hell was he going to do now?

Nothing, maybe. Because he was tired and anxious and confused and totally jumping to conclusions. He was completely imagining the discernible tether that gripped his heart and twisted, had only hallucinated the sound of her, in the next room, sobbing because he couldn't help her if he tried and he still wasn't fucking good enough. He was dreaming. His dream, his nightmare. His self-inflicted glamour.

He lay down, still breathing as if he'd just run the blood rite. He didn't sleep again; only thought, thought, thought too much.

The Bone Carver had been right, perhaps. Or maybe it was just tonight.

But whistling through the Illyrian camps, the wind screamed her name.

**.oOo.**

"You look terrible," Nesta offered, committed to making that her only contribution to breakfast conversation.

Cassian replied with a grunt, pouring an ungodly amount of coffee-that-didn't-really-smell-that-much-like-coffee. 

She frowned at him. She'd expected a weary grin and a remark about how absolutely gorgeous he thought he was. Something was up. 

His left eye twitched slightly, and her frown deepened. That was his deep-thinking twitch. Better than the I'm-hurt twitch, which was his right eye, but it only confirmed the thought that something was most definitely up.

"Were you... out last night?" she asked carefully. 

"No," he said. He hung his head rubbing his temples. "Cauldron, no. I'm just... thinking."

"Well, I know that," Nesta grumbled, looking away. And then looking back. "Thinking about broaching the subject of going out tonight?"

He huffed. "I don't want to go anywhere."

"Thinking of inviting someone back-"

"Nesta."

She shrugged, as if invisible weights didn't grip her by the shoulders. "There's no need to let me cramp your style. I don't care what you do and who you do it with."

Something flashed through those flickering eyes, and Nesta could have sworn he flinched. But he only grabbed his very suspicious mug, said, "I have bigger things to worry about than sex these days," and walked out the door without looking at her, before she even had time to think of a response.

She sighed. It was dawn, for crying out loud. He always woke her up with his bustling about and making breakfast, but he never just left. He really couldn't stand her. And there really was something he was hiding.

She sighed again. She didn't care. She didn't care at all.

Sometimes, though, there was a lingering mortal part of her that wished she still did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last three chapters have been so therapeutic to write ^.^ I actually stayed up until about three am banging them all out which was a nice sort of outlet, but I figured I'd save them up for the days I had no motivation/time to write. Now that I'm publishing this oh so much later, I'm in a much better place, so hopefully I'll be able to scrounge up enough inner angst for the next chapters xD


	10. Not Strong (Rumors)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emerie gets Nesta to talk during a visit to the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who just re-borrowed _A Court of Frost and Starlight_ from the library!!!! I'm eight chapters in and I've already used up most of what I refer to as my "conspiracy tags". I'm going to make up a big journal filled with theories and still come up with everything still wrong in the next book, but meh, who cares. At least a lot of the foreshadowing I found seems to correspond to my plans for this story...
> 
> On the subject of that, with only one chapter of appearance in canon, I have obviously written Emerie completely and entirely wrong. It's too late to change her now, and I do like her, but I will be forever haunted by this ungodly error...

"This is a shop, not a hangout space."

Nesta shot Emerie a look. "It's not like I don't buy things."

"I don't have a set price on the irritation caused by company." 

Nesta didn't reply, and for a while, neither did Emerie. Then she said, "You're tense. You and the Commander have a fight?"

"No," Nesta snapped. She was heavy, and tired for a reason other than lack of sleep. She didn't want to think about what was up with Cassian, let alone talk about it with Emerie. With anyone.

"If he's being bitchy again," Emerie continued, "it's probably just stress. He has a meeting today."

Nesta straightened, ire dashed over her features. "Another one?"

"I don't know what the hell happened at the last meeting, but apparently one of Koschei's messengers is back again to 'clear things up'. So either this 'Koschei' fucked things up last time, or he's just thought of something else he wants."

"I wouldn't know," Nesta muttered.

Emerie cocked her head, like she did before saying something nosey and contemplative. "He probably only keeps things from you as a way of helping you."

"He didn't before the war."

"Yeah, well, the war broke all of us."

Nesta scowled. "Being Under the Mountain broke Tamlin, but Feyre was allowed to be as pissed off as she wanted when he did something she didn't like." She was belittling that event, and making Cassian sound worse than he really was, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to break things. Maybe feelings.

"You know, I have a feeling you talk to him even less than you do to me, which is saying something. Or not saying anything, I suppose." She smirked. "If you did, even just a little bit, I bet things would get better."

"Everyone's so obsessed with that," Nesta spat. _"Things will get better._ Well, guess what? Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they get worse. Sometimes it's not a way of getting stronger, it's a way of telling you to _stop."_

"And only cowards that have given up when they shouldn't have talk like that," Emerie snarled, weaving around the counter. "You know the saying that if you think you're insane, you're probably not? It works the same way for endings. If you think you're done for, _you're not._ Because only the strongest know how to accept that, and only the strongest can keep going."

Emerie was stopped right in front of Nesta, but she stepped back when she finished, as if to let Nesta process. She took a moment to do so, looking down at the floorboards.

Then she whispered, "I'm _not_ strong."

There was a beat of silence, and Nesta kept going, her voice harsher now. "It's another one of those ridiculous things that I will never live down! I have _never_ been strong. I let my sisters starve to death because I wasn't strong enough to save them. I let my sister be taken by the fae- _killed_ by them- because I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I let those mortal queens turn us in and screw us over because I wasn't strong enough to do anything about it. I let them break the wall, I let them build their armies, I let them _shred his wings-_ twice- because I couldn't do _shit._

"And look at me now. I'm a mess that everyone would be better off without, who everyone's squabbling over as they try to get _rid_ of me! Elain's been through the same things, Feyre's been through _worse_ things, and they're both put on a pedestal. I should never have been here. I should never have been here."

Nesta wanted to fall to her knees and release emotions her broken body wouldn't truly let her feel; wanted to hurl her guts up just knowing she had said those things aloud, and Emerie had heard. Had listened. Instead, she stood in crumbling, steady silence.

"It wasn't a joke," Emerie said softly, so softly Nesta wanted to hit her a little. "You really do... you wish you'd never been here. You weren't joking."

Nesta looked up, and let Emerie see her eyes. "I want... I wanted the best for them. Always. And I always knew that it wasn't me."

Emerie tilted her head to the side. "I know you don't want to hear this, least of all from me. Probably not from anyone. But he's said the same thing."

Her heart stuttered.

"He's said," Emerie went on, "that his mother could have lived if she hadn't fallen pregnant with a bastard. He's said that Rhysand and his mother and Azriel could have done better without him. That Mor would have been safer if he'd never been there, never interfered. That legions of Illyrian soldiers could still live- never mind he's kept half of them alive himself. He's said," she added gently, "that you'd be happier if someone else was trying to look after you. Though he did specifically mention I not tell you that part, so don't let him know that I told you."

Nesta was quiet. Very quiet.

Then she said, "That's different. There's a difference between a useless nobody thinking the world would be better off without her and a powerful warrior thinking he's nothing but a low-born bastard."

Emerie looked at her for a moment. She said, "One day, Nesta Archeron, you are going to see things clearly again- or for the first time. And you will wish you'd wasted less time believing these things, and more time... having time."

Nesta flinched as if Emerie had slapped her. Of course she knew about that. Everyone knew.

She only said, _"I wish I'd never been here."_ And walked out of the shop.

Emerie's eyes haunted her the same way Cassian's often did, and she choked on something that was like a sob but wasn't.

She wanted to burn every memory and every thought from her skin, wanted to fall and fall with nothing to catch her just like she did inside. She wanted them to realise she was right, not the other way around. She wanted to be gone, less than a memory.

She let the Illyrian wind chill her to the bone and pretended she had somewhere left to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to TRY to update more regularly now. I was meant to be good with this but apparently not, haha.


	11. Self-Inflicted Glamour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koschei's most trusted return on his behalf, carrying explanations...
> 
> ... and a revelation that sends Cassian reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still rereading _A Court of Frost and Starlight_ and I got up to the infamous Nessian scene last night!!! So many feels, so many comments, so many QUESTIONS. I feel like the box contained a key, but I can't be sure what for. Very jealous of future kids who will read this series when there is already an answer at their disposal...
> 
> Also, is it just me, or has Nesta been totally out of character, too?

Cassian couldn't be distracted right now. Not... not in _this_ meeting.

Rhys and Feyre hadn't come this time, apparently tied up with some important task they were both required to be present for in Velaris. Or _whatever._ Either way, that meant Cassian was the only one here with Koschei's little emissaries. And something told him this meeting was hardly going to go better than the first.

First of all, Koschei had sent _two_ of his birdfolk, neither of which Vassa. One a muscular male with crimson feathers streaking through his golden hair, the second a dark-skinned female with magenta feathers adorning her like jewelry. Both of them looked like full-fledged warriors, unsmiling and ready to take no shit. Cassian was already unnerved, so that was just great, wasn't it.

"Sorry for the short notice," the female said, her tone clipped and harsh. "We don't dictate our master's orders."

Not even bothering to hide it, then. Either that, or Koschei's control didn't go as deep as he thought it did. 

"As long as the minimal audience doesn't bother you." Cassian tried to smile and probably just grimaced. He was too sleep-deprived and confused to be charming right now. Not when all of his energy was going into screaming inwardly at his subconscious: _Don't say it!!! Don't say the word!!!_

"I assume you won't be any less fair than your partners," the male answered politely.

_Partners, hehe. Like Nesta? And how she might be your-_

"So, I'm assuming Koschei's filled you in on who I am, then," Cassian blurted, twitching slightly and rubbing the back of his neck.

The pair of them shared a look, then nodded.

"Cassian, Illyrian general- not that he had to tell us that. Part of Lord Rhysand's Inner Circle." There was something they weren't saying yet, like they wanted to drag this out. 

The male put a hand on his tan chest, mostly exposed by the loose red and white robes draped over him like bath towels. "I am Ilyon, one of Koschei's most trusted. And this is my partner, Raelle."

Raelle didn't even try to be friendly with him, only leveling an icy stare he knew all too well.

_It's just a look, you useless bastard, why are you thinking about her again? Couldn't be because she's your-_

They reminded him of himself and Azriel, he decided. When they tried to broach a meeting with someone they didn't particularly like for an alliance. Azriel was all icy rage, and Cassian was awkwardly trying to make some semblance of ease. Not that he wasn't also like that with someone else fairly icy-

"Koschei's most trusted," he echoed like a fool. "Second and third, then?"

Raelle gestured first to herself, then to Ilyon, as if to solidify the order. "As I assume you are one of which, too?"

Cheeks heating- though he couldn't quite discern why- Cassian shook his head. "Morrigan and Amren are the second and third of this court. I'm just a bastard general with the occasional helpful opinion." Debatably.

Ilyon chuckled. "I've heard you've had some fairly important work lately."

Important work? _Important work._ What bullshit. Helping Nesta, which he was the world's biggest failure for because she wouldn't talk to him and she cried alone at night just like-

"Drama in Day," Raelle clarified before his thoughts could go further. His confusion must have shown on his face- though he hoped the despair hadn't. "We did love to hear of your hard work, trying to figure out the meaning of it all."

Was she mocking him? Cassian couldn't even tell anymore, though experience told him yes, probably. He banished his sigh with as much of a smile he could summon. "I'd hardly call that important work, now. We put up a few posters, asked a few people some favours, and the rest is left up to Azriel."

"The shadowsinger," Raelle said, and it almost sounded like a sigh. Cassian could not take another single thing to be confused about at this point, so he disregarded it. Entirely.

"Is that what you wanted to meet about?" Cassian reached an arm out to lean against the dining table, and raised his eyebrows at the pair. Not teasingly, but promptingly. Urging them to get the hell on with it.

"No, unfortunately." Ilyon flashed Cassian what appeared to be a genuine smile, despite the obvious strain. "We heard about..." He almost seemed panicked in his quest to find the right words. "What happened with Cuhena. In your last meeting."

Cassian nodded. "It seemed abrupt, to say the least." In the same way _this _meeting felt mighty fucking suspicious. "Was there a reason for that?"__

__"Yes." Raelle looked uneasy- which, on her icy face, made Cassian feel the same. What was going on?_ _

__"Koschei was... monitoring Cuhena very closely during the meeting," Raelle continued. "Veritably watching it through her eyes, a second mind within hers. When... when _she_ entered..."_ _

__Raelle swallowed, and Cassian checked himself. Not that it would be much use; one foul word against her, and he knew he'd likely snap._ _

___You're so protective of her. Because she's your-_  
Thankfully, Raelle was already continuing. "Koschei could feel her. And I suppose that... in feeling her, he might have been a little impulsive with his magic, forgetting he was still bound with Cuhena. And that brought her back."_ _

__"And what was it, then?" Cassian tried to pretend he wasn't exhausted and on edge, though annoyance pierced his tone. "She's so godsdamned powerful your _master_ had a freak out?"_ _

__It was Ilyon's turn to give an awkward, hard swallow, and subsequently deliver the blow. "Koschei caught her scent, and he... He felt it. The bond."_ _

__"Felt the-" Cassian cut himself short. His breath was gone, his chest tight, as if a spear had ricocheted from armour. From flimsy, unsuspecting armour. "The _what?"__ _

__"The mating bond," Raelle said. Her voice deadly quiet. "Apparently her... substantial power matches the two of them. He wishes to retrieve her at the earliest convenience." Which, if not now, he would probably make a quick opportunity for._ _

__Cassian felt his soul slipping, his body a distant and unfamiliar vessel. He would have preferred they insult her, really. Rather than this be true. It wasn't, was it? It couldn't be. Never. Not if he... not if he..._ _

__He'd tried to convince himself he was imagining things, and maybe he had been. No bond had snapped into place, unlike with _Koschei._ All that worry and doubt for no reason, then. It had all been... like a glamour, of his own mind. A self-inflicted glamour._ _

___"Koschei's mate,"_ he rasped. _"The mate and matched equal of a_ death god."_ _

__"Is she here?" Raelle asked sharply._ _

__"Not right now," Cassian managed to get out, hoping like anything that it wasn't her footsteps he could hear outside the hut._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to see the lovely comments you all have about this!!! 😅
> 
> Remember, you can find me on Tumblr (rebellesong), Instagram (rebelle_wing) and Quotev (RebelleHeart).


	12. Debts Unpaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta has nowhere to go, but returning to the hut gets her more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the best time reading all your lovely comments on the last chapter ^.^   
> It's like my subconscious knew I was going to have the shittiest couple of days and told me to give you that chapter...!  
> I'm so sorry, Nessian fans, please don't leave me here. I promise this is not all there is to it. You'll see, I swear it.

She'd been everywhere. Twice. And immortal life was dull.

She couldn't decide if she hated the numbing cold of the harsh winds or resigned to it, letting it wash her away from existence. If she'd felt enough on the inside, tears might have turned to ice against her cheeks. But they didn't; the ice was her.

She was tired, she decided. Not of being pushed around and neglected, but just of _being._ She was tired of being Nesta Archeron, and tired of the ties that came with that. So, so tired.

She'd been to pretty much every place she could get to short of the training rings (and any area involving people/interaction), and she was bored and tired and cold. As much as she loathed the idea of a fire, the heat from it was starting to sound ever so slightly appealing. Especially if she could have a book- any book- with her as well.

So she turned to trudge back for the hut, hands tucked into her flimsy pockets, and hung her head to keep her face from the cold. It was strange, she thought with a frown, the sound of the wind as it whistled through the camp. Almost like her name, an accusation from the gods that didn't watch over them.

Something inside her tugged, sending agony splintering through her soul. Irksome as it was, it wasn't unusual. It was what she deserved, anyways.

She heard voices inside the hut, but she didn't care anymore if they were still meeting in there. She didn't care if she spooked an entire flock of Koschei's birds away. If Feyre wanted the steppes to be her home, she should at least have someplace to go.

When she opened the door, everyone went silent. That was no sign to something being wrong. Not even the exotic, part-feathered emissaries that stood by the table.

But Cassian, leaning against it with drawn, pale skin and wide eyes, looking as if he might break down or be sick at any moment? That put every one of her senses on high, high alert.

"What's going on?" she asked. She shut the door and took one step, forcing herself not to go any closer to him. Not with the look on his face- that look that told her to get out, with a brittle edge she nearly mistook for fear.

"Nesta Archeron," the female emissary said. Her royal magenta robes swished as she stepped forward, feathers dripping from her like rainwater. 

"That's me," she said slowly. She retreated half a step back. No, no, she didn't like this. She didn't like it at all. She wanted to go back- wanted to walk out that door and go back to find Emerie, and not talk to her, and go back to being shadowed. "I- I'm sorry to interrupt you. I need to go."

"May we speak with you for a minute?" the female asked. Her voice left no room for argument, though Nesta would certainly have liked to have tried. The look flashing through Cassian's eyes stopped her, and she nodded.

"Yes," she said tightly.

They waited for a moment, stepping aside as if they wanted her to sit down. _This_ kind of a speaking-to, then? As if they thought she had enough left to care about that she'd be devastated by whatever news they carried with them? 

She sat on the chair, Cassian lowering himself into the one across the table. Part of her thought it was an effort to be equal in this discussion, but his hands shook with the strength they gripped the table.

"You were present for the meeting with Cuhena, yes?" the male emissary asked her, a soft smile on his features that she wanted to just _not have in her line of vision right now._

"Hardly," she said. "I walked into the room, she freaked out, and Rhysand sent me back to Emerie's shop. But I did see Cuhena, if that's what you're asking. Why? Is she missing now, too?"

The male chuckled. "No. No, she's fine. It was actually..."

"Koschei was present in the meeting as well," the female interjected. "He's bound to his lake on the continent, but through his control over us, he can... watch. And it was... what he picked up on through Cuhena that caused her sudden departure."

Nesta only blinked, her face level and unfeeling. Waited for them to hurry up.

"Koschei felt a bond snap between the two of you," Cassian said quietly. 

"Me and Cuhena?"

"You and him."

She stared at him. Long and hard. His hand was nearly touching her arm where it lay against the table.

She tugged her hands into her lap, retreated into herself. "A mating bond?"

Cassian nodded. "So he claims. And he... He would like you to return to the continent with Raelle and Ilyon." He gestured to the emissaries.

Nesta looked at them carefully, too. The feathers, the garish, revealing robes. "He wants to claim me? Like with Vassa?"

"I don't believe he wants... the same terms," said the female emissary- Raelle. "But... we don't negotiate with Master. And he would like you to return with us."

"We can give the two of you a moment if you need it," Ilyon added softly. He shot Raelle a look asking her to step outside with him, and she scowled even as she obeyed. 

Nesta watched as the door shut behind them, and kept staring at it in the silence that followed.

"I would fight this," Cassian said hollowly from behind her. "I would find a way to get you out of this curse, Nesta. I wouldn't make you go. You know that."

Nesta turned to face him. He balked slightly at her drawn face, at the lack of fight, but she didn't give a shit. Not as she replied, her voice quiet, "He is a _death god,_ Cassian. He is the stronger sibling of the _Bone Carver,_ and the _Weaver._ You can't fight him. You can't do that."

"I wouldn't make you go," Cassian repeated. He reached for her hands, folding it in two of his. She resisted the urge to pull away. "This isn't... Nesta, I... _Nesta."_ He hung his head, and pulled one of his hands back to run through his messy hair, dislodging the leather tied into it. "I don't want you caught up in this."

"It's not up to us," she said slowly, pulling her hand back. He lifted his head, pain and confusion in his eyes. "None of this... Nothing is up to us. We don't write the narrative."

He swallowed, hard. She watched the bob of his throat and let her eyes wander; let herself look over the messy hair, the golden, stubble-dotted skin, the flickering hazel eyes. She'd been pissed off with this male; she'd been willing to die for him. And all just to leave him.

Life was cruel.

"Nesta," he said, and his voice broke on the single word.

"Tell Feyre," she said as steadily as she could force herself to, "that I would have _obeyed her orders_ and stayed here if I'd had the option." 

She made herself stand up, and turn away so she couldn't see him anymore. She tried not to let it sink in, that she was walking away from him. But she did, and she opened the door to see Raelle and Ilyon right outside.

"I don't have anything to bring," she said simply.

Raelle and Ilyon looked at one another. Then looked back, and each reached out a hand to grab her by the wrists.

"Let's go, then." Ilyon offered a sweet smile.

Nesta didn't look back as the pair winnowed her away. Even the winds of the void between worlds screamed accusations of her name- accusations, and debts unpaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using this story as a coping mechanism again, so I've been writing a heck ton. I know my updates on here haven't exactly been consistent, but would you vote for more or less? More or less often updates, I mean. Let me know, because I can do it either way.


	13. Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian wasn't sure why he was here. He wasn't sure of anything; he didn't even know if he wanted to rage and scream and fight or break down and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consensus seems to be for often updates mostly, so I'll try to update every couple of days! I think that's doable... but I'm sad because I left my notes for chapter nineteen (where I'm writing at the moment) in my science classroom and I can't get them back until Tuesday 😅  
> Time to wing it and edit later. Enjoy the thirteenth chapter for now, and be sure to spam me with your lovely comments!!!

Feyre and Rhys were cuddling on the love seat when Cassian came storming in. So their 'special meeting' must have gone just _fine,_ then.

"Hey, Cass," Feyre said, coming to standing as he entered. "What's up? How was the meeting?"

"How was the meeting?" Cassian echoed. He growled. _"How was the meeting?!"_

Rhys got to his feet also, daring a step closer to his brother. "What happened with Koschei?"

Cassian wasn't sure why he was here. He wasn't sure of anything; he didn't even know if he wanted to rage and scream and fight or break down and cry.

They had taken Nesta. They had taken Nesta, and she had gotten up and gone. Just _gone_ with them, as if his promise to fight meant nothing. As if _he_ meant nothing.

Maybe he did mean nothing. He had done fuck all to help her since she'd come, and it wasn't like she was tied to him by a _mate bond_ or anything like that. But he cared about her. He cared about her in spite of all that, in spite of _everything,_ and he'd somehow thought that could be enough. Somehow.

He heard the door open, and whirled around to see Amren and Mor bickering as they came in the door. They fell utterly silent, even Amren, as they beheld the angered tension in his body.

"What happened?" Mor asked quietly.

Cassian pointed at Amren. "What the hell is it?"

She scowled. "What the hell's what?"

"What the hell's inside her?" He dared stalk a few steps closer. "You said it when you met her. That you were the same, that something different prowled beneath her skin. _What the hell is it?!"_

"Hell if I care," Amren muttered, shadows darting through her quicksilver eyes at the mention of a certain Archeron.

Cassian tried hard to swallow his rage. "Can you just- this is important, I need-"

"Cassian," Rhys said, stepping closer to draw him away, to keep him from yelling at Amren- at _Amren,_ gods above. He needed to control himself. "What happened in the meeting?"

Cassian looked back into those violet eyes and clenched his jaw, bracing his tongue for the words he didn't want to admit. Didn't want to make real. "Nesta and Koschei have a _fucking mating bond."_

Feyre swore, so viciously even Rhys shot her a look. Mor staggered back against the doorframe and even Amren had gone a bit pale.

"What?" Mor whispered.

"You fucking heard me," Cassian seethed. "A _fucking mating bond._ He sent his colourful little emissaries to _retrieve her,_ so she want prancing off into the sunset with them at her _earliest convenience."_

"A... A mating bond?" Mor echoed. "A _mating bond._ With _Koschei._ The... The death god."

Cassian could only breathe heavily in response.

"She's gone," he said raggedly. "She went with them. I told her I would fight, and she _went with them._ Went to him."

"My sister is with Koschei," Feyre said, her voice funny and wobbly.

Cassian threw his arm out. "You wanted me to restrain her? You wanted me to hold her back and lock her up and keep her from her mate like Tamlin tried to do to you?"

Rhys snarled, and Cassian bared his teeth right back. "I didn't ask her to go, I didn't want her to! But obviously hanging around with me was doing fuck all to help her, and if healing time alone with her fucking mate is all she fucking needs, then maybe this _is_ what you fucking want for her."

Feyre was silent, one hand on her chest, breathing quickly. Her eyes were wide and he could see helplessness written all across her expression.

He thought he felt guilty. He at least knew he _should_ feel guilty. But he still wasn't sure of any of the things he felt. Anger, misery, helplessness, guilt, agony, despair... They had all melded into one by now.

"What are we going to do?" Mor asked quietly.

"Send out Azriel's spies," Cassian gritted out. _"All_ of them. Make sure she's okay and find a way to get her back."

"Azriel's spies are working in the Day Court," Rhys pointed out.

"Send Lucien to the fucking Day Court and let him deal with it." Cassian stormed towards the door.

"Cass!" Feyre called weakly. "Where are you going?"

He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know where he was going, what he was doing, what he was thinking, nothing. Only that she was gone, and he'd failed her, and he didn't know what to do. 

"Back," he replied gruffly. Flying all the way back to the Steppes again before nightfall. Because what else would he do?

"Do you want me to winnow you?" Mor asked gently.

"No," Cassian replied sharply. It was Nesta who preferred winnowing; he needed to feel the wind, wanted his wings and muscles to burn with the flight. If he didn't, he would get lost in his head, and that was not somewhere he needed to be right now. 

"We'll figure something out and come see you tomorrow," Feyre shouted, and he paused before he could slam the door behind him.

"She asked me to tell you," he said, voice shaking, "that she would have _obeyed your orders_ and stayed here if she'd had the option." 

He turned to leave before any of them could respond. It was too late for anything to be done, and he knew it.

**.oOo.**

The winnowing winds encased her, swallowed her whole. Sunlight fractured through crystal windows greeted her once they'd parted. This world was too bright.

She followed Raelle and Ilyon in stoic silence, their echoing footsteps like the booming wardrums she couldn't erase from her mind. Everything in the palace was shiny and cheery, and she felt even less at home than usual. She waited to feel a pull to it, a thread that tied her here, but... nothing. 

"This is her?" Asked a green-clothed male with dark skin, standing in a fighting stance before two grand double doors.

"Certified," Raelle replied. A firebird flapped warningly atop the soldier's shoulder.

"Enter," the soldier commanded.

The doors creaked open, the emissaries urged her inward, and a throne room opened out ahead of them. All gold and white light and bright, bright colours. Squinting against it all, Nesta barely made out the silhouette that advanced towards them. She heard the emissaries bow to their knees on either side of her, and waited for something to happen. 

"Soulstealer," murmured a low voice. "Welcome home, mate."

Something in her chest snapped.


	14. Smoke and Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta's first encounter with Koschei...
> 
> … goes well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost finished my acofas reread, and ARGH. I'm now utterly caught between keeping things accurate to _this_ story and making them accurate to where Sarah left us off... Really annoying me!!!!!!!
> 
> Anyways. Short chapter today, should be another update relatively soon.

She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected. Of any of it.

She hadn't met either of the other death gods, though she'd glimpsed them briefly in battle, looking just like any other fae for the most part. And even though both of her sisters had a mate, she'd never heard more than a word or two about what the bond _itself_ was like. So, everything was really just... unsurprisingly surprising.

The bond was _real._ More real than any of her organs, which she couldn't feel anyways even though they were tangible. Like a thread... no, like a bridge of darkness and wicked things, taking up almost all of her chest. She could almost see it, smoke and shadows with a single vine of dim, flickering light coiled around the closest end.

The snap as it realised its existence and fell into place reverberated throughout her entire being, like a pebble dropped into still waters- carrying with it not pleasure, but rather ominous beats of something sharp and unavoidable. Her connection to this _death_ god before her. It was real.

His eyes were what sent ripples of muffled terror through her blood, echoes of the bond's existence. Wholly black, yet somehow deeper than that. Like an endless void that was nothing, and yet everything. Blind and all-seeing.  
A little wicked smile, his sensual mouth quirking only to one side as if he could scent her fear. It wouldn't surprise her if he could see a fucking graph of all her emotions with his godly, lethal eyes.

"You know, I wasn't sure how much of it I'd imagined," he said easily, stepping closer and reaching out a moon white hand as if to touch her cheek. She went stiff as his fingers hovered, so close but not touching. "But it is true. Much more amplified here, though." He did touch her, then, and her stomach clenched with the effort not to flinch away. "So much more beautiful. And _so_ powerful."

He smirked, drawing a searing line down her cheekbone. His hands felt so _human,_ it was impossible. 

"You don't condescend to speak to me, mate?"

There were no words. Not a one, not that was true. Still, "You're not my mate" was the only thing to come tumbling out.

"The bond can exist all it will," she went on, "but that means nothing. We're not _mated."_ That was why the dark bridge within was only smoke and shadows- an intangible reminder of the unsolidified connection.

Koschei chuckled, the sound grating over her skin like sandpaper. "Very smart. We indeed are not mated yet."

Something in her chest twisted, as if that coil of flickering light was squeezing tighter. _Yet._

"You can't force a mating bond," she managed to get out. But she had no idea if it was true, particularly not of a death god. If the Cauldron could not _break_ a bond, surely a god could not _force_ one.

To her eternal relief, Koschei sighed as if for effect, looking away. "Unfortunately not. Not to say that I wouldn't if I could." The quirky smile was instantly back, venomous and sweet all at once. 

"So you can't make me mate you," Nesta said as airily as possible, trying not to convey too much relief. "Why am I here again?"

Koschei chuckled. "I like you. You are here, Nesta Archeron-" her voice sounded like acid from his tongue- "because I can keep whoever I wish here, regardless of Cauldron-blessed ties to me. You are here because I think you'd find life to be very, very good as my mate, and it's not too late to change your mind."

Nesta wrinkled her nose. "So I'm your captive unless I choose to be your consort?"

"It's the stuff of fairytales, isn't it?"

She took a step back. "You cannot hold me here."

His eyes flashed. "Because there is so much that draws you back home?"

He may as well have pitched a spear down their bridge.

He continued, "You think I haven't been able to feel you, since I became aware of our little bond? You think I haven't noticed what you feel, day and night? What you _think of?"_

Fury filled the empty places inside, her spine straightening. _"Stay out of my head."_

He laughed. "Isn't it difficult, not to be curious, though? If you felt me suffering, you'd want to know what from."

"I'd only want to know if I could expect it to kill you anytime soon."

"Now, now. There's no need to get defensive. I have ways to deal with things like that." Power thrummed off him in response, and Nesta forced herself not to cower from the sheer mass of it. The High Lord was _nothing_ in comparison. "Assuming you'd like to revisit the whole eternal-bond thing later, would you like to see the gardens, or your room?"

Nesta bared her teeth at him. "You will never have me. You will _never_ own any part of me."

Koschei shrugged, mouth quirking to one side. "At least I'll have a pretty face to look at in the meantime." He gestured to his lackeys, who had shrunk back against the wall during their conversation. "Raelle, Ilyon. Show her to her quarters. Leave her in Alda's hands for now."

Nesta opened her mouth to retort, to demand he return her, to...

She closed it again. She leveled a flat stare at the god across from her, fists clenched and back straight. She held his gaze until Raelle and Ilyon were again at her sides, and leading her away. And it wasn't until the doors shut behind them and the hallway curved away from him that she let her shoulders sag, her face blank once more.

The presence of the bridge mocked the emptiness that filled the rest of her, reminding her that she had not won and was not going to.


	15. Sassy Therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian doesn't know where to go... so he goes to Emerie. Because I like her, so sue me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait after I promised for faster updates! It's been a rollercoaster week with a couple of Murphy's-law days, including the death of one of my aunts which was understandably distracting. Sarah improved things, at least, with the release of the acosf synopsis, though, so I'll copy it it further notes for those of you that haven't seen it yet!
> 
> (Also I was told the Illyrians swore too much in this chapter, so I cut what I could.)

"Woah. Leave the storm clouds outside, Commander." Emerie scowled from behind the counter. "You out of the good ale already?" Cassian said nothing, pacing the shelves, and she straightened up with a frown. "Did something happen?"

"Doesn't something always happen?"

She pursed her lips, tracing a mark on the wooden counter. "I can't decide if you don't want to talk about it or if you just want me to ask you more specifically."

Cassian huffed a sigh and turned his head. "Nesta's gone."

"What, did she just run off?"

"She was _retrieved,"_ he sneered, "by Koschei's piece of shit emissaries. Because he's her mate."

Emerie swore, then swore again in Illyrian where the words were filthier. "That's _bullshit."_

"She's mated to him. She's mated to a _death god."_ Cassian hated his voice for breaking, but he knew Emerie had a line when it came to making fun of him that she would not cross. "And she's gone to him."

"That's bullshit," Emerie said again. Her tanned cheeks were flushed. "He just decides they're mates and swoops in to steal her? Is she one of his bird girls now or what?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Cassian snapped. "She's on the fucking continent! I told Rhys to get Az's spies over there, but I don't... I don't know..." Cassian hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "I told her, before she left, that I would fight for her. And let her stay. And then she left anyways."

"And did she leave with a dramatic, _goodbye, Cassian?_ Maybe a _good riddance? I am at last free to skip off into the sunset with my eternal partner?"_ Emerie raised an eyebrow.

 _"No,"_ Cassian huffed, scowling at her.

"Tell me what she said."

Cassian sighed. "She said that I was not strong enough to fight against Koschei, and that things like this were not up to us." _We don't write our narrative._

"So she left to protect you, then." Emerie gave him a look that told him to think about that.

"That's not-"

"Can you use your thick skull for something other than collecting rocks in for five seconds, Cassian? Can you take five damned seconds out of your woesome little life to realise that you are incredibly biased in this situation, and you're hiding in your blind spot because it's easier than fighting right now?" Emerie's tone was clipped, her back ramrod straight. _I will slay my enemies_ pose. "I know you don't want to get your hopes up, but you're a _general,_ for Cauldron's sake. You're supposed to be able to look at all angles of things."

"I'm _supposed_ to be able to see all angles of things," Cassian echoed in protest. "I... I've never been able to see all the sides of her. There's always been layers that I just can't see, walls she's built, and... I know she likes it that way, and I know it drew me in, but it's... hard."

"It's hard to live beyond the walls," Emerie said quietly, "but it's also hard to live within them. And, you know, there's this thing called _communication_ that builds a veritable window between-"

"I _know,"_ snarled Cassian. "I fucked it all up. I know."

For a moment, there was just his broody, distant stare and her questioning look. And then she asked, in that annoying neutral voice, "What was it like for _you,_ when you found out? That she was mated to him, that she was going to go."

"You're not my fucking therapist."

"Oh, I know. We've been over that." Emerie smirked slightly. "A therapist would have a steady paycheck and easy access to drugs. Not to mention I probably wouldn't be legally allowed to tell you to get your head out of your ass."

Cassian glared at her. This female was utterly, entirely insufferable, and the fact that she always had a point made it all the more frustrating.

"None of that matters. It's not about me, anyways." He couldn't talk about the confusion and devastation eating him up from within, a parasite that had formed and evolved from the moment he'd heard that now-dreaded M word. Had it been his doing, somehow- trying to convince himself he was pretending? Or had he only been right from the start? Had he never had any connection to her whatsoever?

"That's a first," Emerie mumbled. When she realised he really wasn't going to talk to her, she huffed a sigh. _"Fine._ Bottle it all up and save it for your drinking buddies, see if I care. As long as you snap out of the brooding thing before you run into Devlon. That bastard's cranky again."

"He's always cranky," Cassian grumbled. "I'll brood all I want to, in the presence of whoever's brave enough to interrupt me."

Emerie raised her eyebrows again, and said nothing.

"Have you got any spare stock left over?" Cassian asked, when the silence had stretched so thin it was near to snapping like a rubber band. The poverty of Illyria were in much less of a desperate state than they had been, but he'd come looking for a distraction. Maybe having Illyrian younglings ask for war stories about the scars peppering his wings would do the trick.

"I'm getting more in a few weeks, I think," Emerie said, her voice light but somehow heavy at the same time, as if his pain wore too on her. "I think I have some imperfect staffs if you want to teach the younglings to spar."

Cassian smiled, unsure if it was genuine or not. "That sounds like a good distraction."

Emerie met his stare as she returned with the bundle, her eyes open and intense as she handed the staffs across the counter. 

"Give it some time, you stubborn asshole," she said gently. "You'll see I'm right, and then you'll drop to your knees and kiss my feet in gratitude for my existence in your life."

Cassian let another little smile shine through. "Maybe if you ever cleaned the floors in here, I'd think about it. I may live in Illyria, but I'm not an animal."

She gave him a vulgar gesture. "Keep telling yourself that."

He shook his head, chuckling, as he walked out the door, ignoring the spear the words shot through his chest.

_Keep telling yourself that._

Was there really any other tale to spin for himself, when he'd never known the truth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (official Silver Flames synopsis, as can be found on Amazon)
> 
> **Sarah J. Maas's sexy, richly imagined series continues with the journey of Feyre's fiery sister, Nesta.**
> 
> _Nesta Archeron has always been prickly-proud, swift to anger, and slow to forgive. And ever since being forced into the Cauldron and becoming High Fae against her will, she's struggled to find a place for herself within the strange, deadly world she inhabits. Worse, she can't seem to move past the horrors of the war with Hybern and all she lost in it._
> 
> _The one person who ignites her temper more than any other is Cassian, the battle-scarred warrior whose position in Rhysand and Feyre's Night Court keeps him constantly in Nesta's orbit. But her temper isn't the only thing Cassian ignites. The fire between them is undeniable, and only burns hotter as they are forced into close quarters with each other._
> 
> _Meanwhile, the treacherous human queens who returned to the Continent during the last war have forged a dangerous new alliance, threatening the fragile peace that has settled over the realms. And the key to halting them might very well rely on Cassian and Nesta facing their haunting pasts._
> 
> _Against the sweeping backdrop of a world seared by war and plagued with uncertainty, Nesta and Cassian battle monsters from within and without as they search for acceptance-and healing-in each other's arms._
> 
> How many of you are screaming as much as I am?!?!


	16. It's Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta finds her quarters within the palace of her new mate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!!! I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LONG ABSENCE, THERE WAS A LOT OF WRITERS BLOCK AND THEN I LEFT BUT I'M BACK NOW. HERE. HAVE CHAPTER. I LOVE YOU. I'M SO SORRY, DARLINGS.

Raelle's thumping knock on a heavy wooden door snapped Nesta out of the trance she'd let herself fall into as they'd walked. Or maybe it was the sharp and sudden tang of magic that pulled her back.

Both bodyguards still held her arms, and she could feel- hating that she could tell- a steady silence in the mating bond that meant she was far off from Koschei. She shuffled in place as the magic slowly dissipated, leaving them waiting for the door to open.

She wasn't sure how long they'd walked, how long they'd been on the Continent. It was like those nights so long ago, spent in the seedy taverns of Velaris, when the world was blanketed by a blurring, soothing buzz that took reality away. Every now and again it would part, and she would come back into herself, and then let herself sink back under again. 

It seemed she would be surfacing from the self-induced haze for a while longer, as the sound of cautious footsteps beyond the door reached her fae ears. She heard the clicking of locks- unnervingly few- and slowly, the door pulled open.

The female standing across from them had dusky brown skin and hair so dark that anyone who hadn't spent time in the Night Court might have mistaken it for black. To say her outfit was simple would be to mask the fact she was clothed in veritable rags; to call her shy would be to ignore the fear in her eyes. Nesta felt the female's heartbeat speed up as if it hovered in the air around them as her glimmering eyes took in the trio at her door.

"Did Koschei send for me?" she asked quietly, her voice little more than a wary rasp of air. 

"He bid us come to you, my dear." Ilyon gave her a reassuring smile, as if unnoticing that she blanched at the sight of it. "He's had a... _guest,_ brought to stay with him a while, and heard there might be room for two in your quarters."

The female, her eyes going to Nesta now, nodded very slowly. 

"Okay," she said, her voice still with that tremble in it. "Is that why I'm back in this form?"

Nesta's blood went cold as Raelle nodded- the spear of magic she'd felt before, that had been meant to put this female back into her fae body again. She'd been in some kind of bird form, cursed and trapped.

"I believe you're permitted to stay that way for a few days while she gets her bearings," Raelle said smoothly. Nesta clamped down on her disgust. "After that, it's back to normal."

"So, you'd just like me to let her stay here, and show her around?" she asked. Everybody knew that _"you"_ didn't refer to anyone there.

"Essentially," Ilyon said, again with that disarming smile structured to soothe. "I'm sure you know who to come to if you need help." 

Again, the colour leeched from the female's dark skin. "Of course," she squeaked.

"Well, then, we'll leave her in your hands." A far more grim and unbothered kind of smile from Raelle as she nudged Nesta forward. "Keep out of trouble. I'm sure you'll have no issue in finding Koschei if you wish to see him." A smirk directed at Nesta as the pair of bodyguards began to turn away. 

The female ushered Nesta inside, and she only blinked as the door slammed shut and shaking fingers went to the three thick locks.

"Those would never hold against Koschei." 

The female gave her a look over her shoulder, something between fear and confusion and understanding. _"Nothing_ would hold against Koschei. They're more for peace of mind than anything."

Nesta didn't point out how _un_ peaceful it was, to know that death lurked beyond a door and there was nothing to keep you safe. It wasn't her concern, anyways.

She only said, "I won't get in your way."

The final lock clicking, the female got to her feet and turned to face Nesta. She brushed her hands off on her thighs.

"I'm Alda," she said hesitantly. As if Nesta was a wild creature she didn't know how to approach.

"Nesta," Nesta replied flatly, making no move to take the hand bouncing at Alda's side as if she wasn't sure whether to extend it. The hand dropped, limp, as soon as the name left her lips.

"Nesta," Alda echoed, and Nesta wanted to roll her eyes. _Here we go._ "From... from Prythian? From the war?"

There were about a dozen different ways she could have refuted that, but she only nodded.

Blinking rapidly, Alda nodded back. "Okay. Well. I'll show you around the quarters, then."

Nesta wanted to huff _don't bother_ and simply go sit somewhere, alone, preferably with a drink in hand. But something about the dancing fear in the cursed fae made her decide to humor her, at least for a little bit. She'd met legions in paralysed terror of her power, her mere existence, so it couldn't hurt to tread lightly around one person who was already terrified enough.

She followed Alda obediently as she tiptoed through the spacious rooms, pointing out bathrooms and kitchens and bookshelves as she went.

"And this is your bedroom. I know it's not much, but it's quite far away from mine and you'll have plenty of privacy..."

Nesta took in the space, the soft bed with canopies of fabric hung over it and sparkling windows that opened to a grand garden, a fountain as the centerpiece. Alda rushed to the curtains, swishing them closed to remind her she had privacy.

"It's fine," Nesta said quietly. 

"I was... I just didn't know," Alda stammered, cheeks heating. "Since you've stayed with a High Lord. I thought this might seem plain."

"It's fine," Nesta said again.

Alda nodded, and swept one foot awkwardly along the carpet. "Let me know if you need something- a book, something to eat, if you want to go somewhere else. I'll just be in the living room." 

"Enjoying the fae body while you can?" It slipped out before Nesta had a chance to reconsider.

Alda blushed again, but nodded. "Usually I only get the nighttimes like this," she admitted, gesturing to her body. "Which makes sneaking around a bit more difficult. I tend to be a bit nocturnal, most of the time."

"You can go out if you want to," Nesta said airily. She didn't care, and what was it her business to, anyways? 

Alda shrugged as she slipped past her, out of the room. "I have things to do here."

Nesta watched her retreating back, down the hallway and into the living room. She sat on the edge of the bed that was now hers, looked at the room she now belonged within. 

And deep inside, the flicker of light coiled around what was left of hope grew dimmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try really hard to update again, and here's some more apologies in case I didn't give you enough already!!!!!!!


	17. Find a Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mor makes an unexpected proposal during a meeting with the bat boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY!!! I was going to update for my birthday but I got distracted and then I've been at camp. I haven't written anymore but I'm going to throw you a bone and give you one of my draft chapters I've been saving for update-related emergencies such as this. I'm trying to unstick myself where I'm at, because I'm trying to do different perspectives and I _only want to write Nesta..._  
>  Anyways. Have some Mor (hehehehe).

Mor had known that eventually, she would have to do as Rhysand had said she would, and venture into the world as a peacemaker. She'd done a few things over the spring, but they were more trials than anything, and she hadn't been staying away. Not like this time.

Cassian wanted Azriel's spies on Koschei's land immediately, and he'd go along himself if need be. Lucien would be deployed to the Day Court in their place, to play nice with Helion and see if he could work out where the inhabitants had been going missing to. 

"I'll go," Mor blurted, before she'd truly thought it over. Not that much needed thinking about. 

Eyes went to her, as if she was volunteering to rot in a dungeon of the Hewn City.

"Lucien agreed to go already," Rhys said simply, a cautious tone slithering over his words. 

"We could use an extra pair of eyes," Mor reasoned simply. "Besides, the Day Court isn't a terrible place to be. And Helion... likes me. So I could get information."

"Thinking you're prettier than Lucien?" Azriel asked, the slightest of smiles curving his lips.

Mor smiled back at him, fully aware the expression didn't meet her eyes. "Confidence is sure worth a shot."

Rhys rolled his eyes, but a sparkle of amusement danced in the violet depths. "If you want to go, Mor, that's up to you. We don't need you anywhere else at the moment, and it would help since... since we have closer contact with you."

Since Rhys could speak mind-to-mind with her, something she knew he wouldn't do with Lucien.

"See if Helion knows anything about _this_ while you're there," Cassian added through gritted teeth, thumping a heavy fist on the map that covered the workbench. The part of the map showcasing the Continent.

"Cassian," Azriel said quietly.

"Just about Koschei, in general?" Mor asked him.

Shooting her a look, Azriel placed a scarred hand on the ocean between Prythian and the Continent, right next to Cassian's hand. "Cassian," he said again.

Cassian didn't answer, didn't look up from where he was hunched over, muscles tense and breathing hard. Nobody in the room spoke or even moved, eyes on the General and the Spymaster before him.

Mor would think him sick if she hadn't seen the same thing almost two years ago. Rhys had looked the same way, many a time over, upon returning from Under the Mountain. Weighted down, forever burdened with the knowledge that the female he loved so fiercely and deeply that even the Cauldron could not condemn it had chosen to stay with another. A different situation, but the pain remained more or less the same.

Mor herself had experienced it, though far more secretly. After the first war.

Maybe it was a kind of pain they would all share, a scar no different to the matching tattoos many of them bore.

"I won't steal her back," Cassian said, his voice guttural. "Not if she _chooses_ to be there. But if she's just doing it out of _convenience_..." He shook his head. "I'll find a way."

"I think it's hard to know these kind of things with Nesta," Rhys said contemplatively.

Feyre might have had an answer- though Mor doubted it. Either, way, there was no point in asking, because both sisters had remained at the Estate for today. Rhys hadn't explained why, but Mor had seen guilt flicker through Cassian's eyes- guilt at the words he had spat at her the last time they'd seen each other.

 _She asked me to tell you that she would have_ obeyed your orders _and stayed here if she'd had the option._

"That doesn't matter," Cassian growled, the sound of paper tearing as his hands tried to bunch into fists. "We have a plan. Spies to the Continent, emissaries to the Day Court. I'll sit on my ass in the camps and you prance around Velaris."

Mor saw in the wounded look on her cousin's face that he was remembering, too- remembering feeling and acting the same way. She wondered if his mind jumped automatically to the happy ending, wondered if he realised that they were immortals and it took a hell of a lot longer to get to that point for most of them. If ever.

"I heard your bastard camp Lord is cranky again," Rhys said, as lightly as he could. "I could help you with authority, if that would do more than the prancing."

"I'll deal with him," Cassian muttered. _Just like with everything else._

"I should go to find Lucien," Mor sighed, standing from her awkward position on the chair she'd been using. 

"Don't bother," Azriel murmured, his shadows darting around him as if stirred by wingbeats. "He's in the Estate." 

Eyes went to him. "To see Elain?" Rhys asked, using the same tone he did to talk to Cassian about Nesta. Utterly ineffective, if experience meant anything.

Indeed, annoyance flickered in the Shadowsinger's eyes. "To see Feyre. It appears she wished to speak to him about going to the Day Court herself."

Mor didn't ask why he knew the specifics. She only stretched slightly and said, "I guess that's my cue, then. Any goodbyes? Requests? Words of advice?"

Cassian finally lifted his head, dark hair falling over his eyes as they fixed on her. Hollow, but so, so intense. 

"Just find out what's wrong," he said simply.

Mor wished, for a moment, that she could stay and be for him who she'd been to Rhys all that time ago. But it didn't matter where she was and what she did, because she wasn't that person. Not to him.

She only nodded, first to him, then to Rhys and Azriel, and disappeared in a flurry of magic and otherworldly winds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I jinx myself if I tell you again I'm going to try really hard now....?


	18. Lo and Behold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koschei calls Nesta away to visit the gardens... filled with uncomfortable memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you liked Angry!Cassian, because there's more to come in future chapters! Your opinions mean a lot to me, so let me know your theories and thoughts, and enjoy some more angst.

She didn't want to admit it, but it wasn't a hell of a lot different.

Alda had good books, and no qualms about lending them. Nesta's room was comfortable and of a good temperature. She didn't go anywhere. Life should have been _better,_ all things accounted for. But it wasn't. 

She hated the Steppes. She hated being trapped there and controlled there. But the fact she didn't feel caged here was an illusion, she knew, and one that kept her on alert. On _high_ alert.

Alda's romance books were somehow steamier, but the key difference was in the fae characters. Most of the books Nesta had been able to acquire since journeying to Prythian had been about those, yes, but she'd always gone for the most normal ones possible. Of course, there were powers, there was immortality, but it was the mating bonds she'd always strayed away from. Here, they practically ran rampant across the pages.

A part of her turned her nose up at the way the bond was described. All vulnerability and intensity and passion that washed your souls together, bleeding them like ink until discerning the two was impossible. She shuddered at the very thought, nauseated when her mind reminded her it could be her and Koschei. 

_The bond snapped into place, all in one moment- so intense and so world shattering that Agnes forgot how to breathe entirely. It was as if it took up all the places where her organs had been, her body's only function now to prowl closer, pull herself into him as if never to let go. Cash growled, no doubt feeling the same, and dragged his mouth down her neck. It wasn't just love. It was more powerful than that. It was life, and she was purposeless without it._

Nesta made a face as she set the book down, rolling her neck to get rid of the ache forming there. Romance was good. A book all about romance was good, too. But _characters_ all about romance? _Purposeless without it?_ Even in this place, she was sure she could find something better to waste her time on.

Her feet cat-soft against the floor, she slipped out of her room and made her way to the living room, looking for Alda. She saw the female at the counter, stretching her still-fae legs while poring over a magazine.

"Do you need something?" she asked, looking up. She was slightly less skittish than when Nesta first came, but barely. Nesta couldn't tell if it was fear or a too-deep drive to please... though there had been shattered glass when Nesta had given her reasons for "visiting".

"No," Nesta grumbled. She never knew what she wanted, unfortunately.

Alda seemed to see that as a lie, because she immediately rounded the counter to get Nesta a glass of water. "Did you finish the book?"

"I didn't want to," Nesta said, leaning against the bench. "I didn't like it."

Alda chuckled, her knuckles tight around the cup. "That one was a bit full-on."

Nesta said nothing. Somehow, her youngest sister's face came into mind thinking back on the story, arriving for that final meeting when she'd gotten what she'd wanted. When she'd arrived crowned and glowing, her hand in that of the High Lord. Looking as if a missing piece had been found.

Stupid, happily-ever-after mates.

Alda was reaching across the counter, the drink still in hand, when a knock sounded through the quarters. A strong knock, as if to break through the door.

Already typically paling, Alda set the drink down and rounded the counter, making careful steps towards the threshold. Nesta lingered, not wanting to be seen but wanting to hear all the same.

"Koschei would like to show his mate the gardens," came Ilyon's easy voice.

Alda's shoulders curved. "Is that an order?" Not a challenge, but a meek question.

"I believe so."

Alda looked back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Nesta's.

"I'm coming," Nesta said coldly, pushing off the side of the counter. Her steps were clipped, conveying irritation, but now all she wanted was to curl up in the dark and sleep.

Ilyon offered a hand, and she brushed past him as she eased into the hallway.

"Take me to the gardens," she said. Her voice bored, but at least it was unbreaking.

Ilyon smiled, eyes flickering. "This way, soulstealer."

**.oOo.**

Koschei was simply reclined in a regular-looking lawn chair that looked out over the grounds, fancy drink in hand. She hated how normal he looked, with the shade over his face and making his eyes look like nothing more than a trick of the light. He smirked wickedly at her as she came to a stop beside him.

"There's the bride to be," he crooned arrogantly.

"No," Nesta said flatly.

He laughed. "You have no idea how much I enjoy these times we have together already."

Nesta couldn't take a moment of his shit. "You wanted to show me the gardens?"

He gestured out before him. "Lo and behold. We have gardens-" A point towards them- "a fountain-" a point to the very grand fountain she could see from her room- "and lots and lots of willing servants." Pointing further out into the grounds, his hand circling back to encompass the palace as well. "I've already gifted you with a taste, my dear, but all will be yours as soon as you accept. Yours to bask in, to control at my side."

Nesta crinkled her nose. "Disrespectfully declined."

Koschei shook his head, tutting. "I'll find some other way to win you over, I suppose. I only have all eternity to do it."

Nesta was ready to leave. Walk away and leave him here, even to go back to whatever hollow emptiness it was she now called home. She was just... just so _done._

"Have fun ogling your birdfolk, and ordering them around," she huffed, turning on her heel. "I don't doubt you'll know _exactly_ where I'll be."

"Nesta," he called out as she began to leave. A casual, inviting tone, if it wasn't for the spine tingling command beneath it, forcing her to turn and meet his endless stare.

"I love you," he purred. She stiffened.

A lie. An outright lie, and she knew it- knew it and hated it. Because he knew what he was doing... Not that she did. Was he trying to manipulate her with affection, or with the memories said affection bore?

Tomas had said it. That hateful human worm who hadn't truly wanted her at all. He'd said it, made her believe it. Tried to coax her into saying it back... among other things. The only other time she'd ever been told those words, ever heard them and known them to be true, they had come from her father's lips. Less than a minute before the snap rang out, still echoing in her blood over a year after.

"You do not," she hissed.

Koschei smiled lazily. "Do I? You think I don't have the _capacity?"_ A snap of his fingers, and the world swam in and out of focus. As if throwing them from this dimension to the next, there and back again in seconds. "I don't think either of us believes that, love."

He let her walk away, this time, and didn't even send Ilyon back after her. It felt like shame, to storm those unfamiliar hallways, running from words he'd said. She was shaking, shaking from that casual magic. She was going to be sick; there was nothing to throw up anyways.

She wandered in circles down an endless maze until Alda's face appeared behind the almost-familiar door. The female said nothing as she got the drink from the counter, sat Nesta in the couch, and pressed it into her hands. Nesta blinked at her, taking a cautious sip. And she let herself tumble back into the blurring void within her.


	19. See You at Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alda returns to her bird form and Nesta runs out of things to do... nearly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M TRYING TO UPDATE REALLY FAST BECAUSE  
> 1\. YOUR COMMENTS GIVE ME LIFE  
> 2\. I'M TRYING TO HOLD THE STREAK  
> 3\. THE CHAPTERS I'VE STARTED DRAFTING ARE FINALLY GETTING CLOSER TO SOME OF THE GOOD PARTS AND I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU GUYS TO SEE  
> ENJOY THE RIDE!!!!!!!!!

Alda returned to bird form a few days after that.

She'd made the most of the time before, bustling about in the daytime and stretching her human body, flipping through her collections of books and handing the best ones over to Nesta. Nesta had watched silently from her perch- now on the couch- and read the books without comment.

It was breakfast, and Nesta had risen early, unable to fall back asleep. The gold of sunrise was only just flickering through the half-shut curtains when Alda squeaked.

Nesta glanced up, and saw glimmers of colour ripple over the female's scalp. After a moment, the colours turned to feathers, flowing gracefully from her skin, slowly lengthening as the sun climbed higher. 

"Time's up," Alda whispered, her eyes wide. Her hands gripped the table, nails forming into grey-black, wicked talons. "See you at sunset."

Nesta could only watch in rapt curiosity as the feathers spread, encompassing her almost entirely before she was engulfed in a bright light. 

The mythical-seeming bird left in Alda's place looked very much like the creature Cuhena had become that fateful meeting, oh so long ago. Silver-white and periwinkle feathers, but these were limned with gold, making her all the more regal. Her talons and beak, now in place, were black as onyx, and her beady eyes sparkled with the same colours as her feathers when they caught the light. Almost reflection, but something more _magical._ She twitched her head and blinked as if in apology.

Nesta examined the gorgeous bird for a moment, a moment longer, both of them in silence.

This was Alda's life, was the hard part to take in. Alda lived in this body, most of the time, and the fae one was a rare comfort in night hours only. Even as caged as she felt, Nesta could hardly imagine it.

"See you at sunset," Nesta murmured. She pressed her lips together as Alda made a clicking noise unnervingly like a purr and set her beak to the last of her breakfast. She huffed a sigh. "So I'm taking care of you now, then."

Alda looked up all too fast, otherworldly eyes widening as Nesta stood. 

"Don't worry, you know I'm kidding," she crooned, pushing her chair in sharply. "You can take care of yourself just fine."

Alda's squawk followed her to the living room as she settled back on the couch with her book, her breakfast left unfinished on the table.

**.oOo.**

Book by book, the stacks disappeared. Nesta was a fast reader, it seemed, and while Alda had good enough taste, she didn't have much. Nesta read the good books, hesitated, and tore her way through bound pages of what the fuck a mating bond felt like and why it was so damned special. And then she looked for more.

Alda was pacing again, her flared feathers brushing against the cabinets with every turn. Nesta almost asked if she wanted to go outside, like a fool, but she had a feeling Alda wouldn't need her help anyways. Not if she lived most of her life in this form.

Nesta scoured the shelves, frowning when she saw symbols somehow familiar. She pulled out the dust-thick book, brushing off the cover as she squinted at it. Below the symbols was a translation in the letters she knew. _Illyria._ The symbols were Illyrian, then. And for whatever reason, Alda had a whole book on the brutes.

A flash of light and a shaken gasp, and the female in question was back, trembling in her new body as the sun set outside she came back to herself, then glanced at Nesta. Took a staggered step closer, peering at the book.

"I didn't realise I still had that," she murmured. 

"It wasn't left here for me to find?" Nesta asked, every word clipped. "Some kind of trick?"

Alda chuckled. "No. I read it a while ago... longer than I thought, judging by the dust. But I didn't realise I'd kept it. It's mostly about Enalius- the first Illyrian. It was published on the Continent a few decades ago, maybe a century."

Nesta passed the thick tome between her hands. "Why were you reading about the Illyrians?"

Alda smiled a little. "Picked it up for the same reason as you- I was bored. Flipped through, found it interesting. Not quite as much smut, of course, but still a good read." 

Nesta opened to the first page, silent, and took in the sketch there. Legions of Illyrians, airborne and grounded, charging as they had in the war. Siphons on each of them; most of them with only one on the back of a hand, clutching at shields and weaponry. She turned another page, where a single male was drawn.

He looked like the standard template for an Illyrian- muscular, tan, dark and shaggy hair, handsome, smirk. Some parts of them were all the same.

The next page screamed a title of _Enalius Windhaven,_ a subtitle of, as Alda had said, _the first Illyrian._

_Legend says Enalius was the product of a human-fae dalliance, gaining a mostly human appearance (rounded ears, etc) and a surplus of fae power- known as raw power, or simply "the killing power". After winning mighty battles over land and rights for himself and other faeries/humans, it is said the Cauldron gifted him wings. Many tales depict him falling in such a battle, only to be Remade by the Cauldron with wings. This made him the first Illyrian, and the astonishment of who he became caused many to bow to him._

He began to form camps in the land he'd won at the tip of Prythian, inviting half-breeds and bastards to join him. They say the Cauldron blessed them in turn, forming small tribes and the beginning of a new era. 

Nesta glanced up, to where Alda was watching, her head cocked in waiting.

"I can get more of the other books if you want them," she offered softly.

"Did I ask you to?" Nesta asked flatly. She closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf. "Don't bother."

Alda's eyes were big and sad, like a puppy in a children's drawing. Nesta met that stare with ice and steel until the female relented, turning away.

"I'll make dinner," she said gently.

"Go ahead," Nesta replied simply, walking away. 

"You'll join me," Alda said. Her voice wavering back into that strange tone of firmness, softness, and pleading. "You don't have a choice."

"Not in anything, do I," Nesta snapped.

"Not in whether or not you eat," Alda answered. She went into the kitchen, her back turned. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

Nesta's spine straightened, but she said nothing. Thought of nothing. She only cursed herself softly, grabbing the book before taking clipped steps away.


	20. Fallen Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta continues to read up on the Illyrians.

Enalius Windhaven, it turned out, had a lot of stories written about him. A _lot._ It was a wonder they were all crammed into that one volume, Nesta mused.

Whoever had written it appeared to revere him to near-insanity - or that was just the way the legends were told. He had invited half breeds and bastards and exiles into his dirty camps, and through some form of magic, they had been given wings and made Illyrians. _That_ was how the race had been borne. Goodwill alone.

More than a few of the passages had her snorting in derision, but somehow she kept reading anyways. Alda seemed guilty, as if she was only reading out of boredom, but Nesta blocked that out as best she could. Not that the pacing of a majestic bird was easy to ignore.

There were _female_ Illyrians, was the bit she was most ecstatic to learn. Not just existing, but... _co_ -existing. Working and fighting and flying alongside the rest of them. And in most of the legends, an all-powerful fae female was often at Enalius's side. Often theorized to be the one who gave wings to the newest Illyrians, yet she had none herself; very close to the hero himself, but no seen romantic connections.

No, not when Enalius had a mate, just like everyone seemed to. Not the female, but an Illyrian named Cerys. A sweet-faced warrior with a heart of gold. She had been slain in a war long before Hybern was even akin to a threat, and Enalius was said to have blown himself to pieces, his rage and magic ravaging the battlefield in a final act in her honor. That was the end of his part of the tome. 

Later, she asked Alda if that power came from the Siphons, half-wondering why it hadn't been used in any of the wars since. Alda paused in her mission to shove dinner directly down Nesta's throat, if necessary, and skimmed over the pages.

"That's not the Illyrians specifically," she said eventually, "though their reservoirs of power sound better suited to it. So no, I don't think it has anything to do with the Siphons. I'm not sure Enalius even had one... But I think there's more about them in the next chapter, or two."

"Why has no one used the power since Enalius, then?" Nesta pushed, batting away Alda's spoons and serving herself with a scowl. "Surely it would have helped in the war. Any of them."

Again, Alda appeared to consider, though only for a few moments. 

"It was the emotion in him, that spurred the blast. The rage and grief and pain. With no Siphons, less control over his magic in the first place..." Alda shook her head. "It's no wonder, really. That we haven't seen it since."

Nesta huffed at the half-answer, chewing on the meal Alda had prepared. She turned the page, taking in the hurried illustration of Illyrian babies, lined up and wrapped in furs.

_Cerys bore a son for Enalius in the months leading up to the pairs eventual demise, several centuries after the pair's mating. The infant was left in the care of nurses and other Illyrians who chose to abstain from the battlefields during the war, and it is said Enalius stayed with the child for much of the battle, too. When he felt the strain down the mating bond, he fled, leaving his infant in the makeshift nursery, never to return.  
After the initial clean up from the war was over, several unclaimed infants remained, no parents come to collect them and no whispers of them being searched for. Enalius's son was one of these babes, but with no parents and no way to identify him, it was never discerned which one he was. The babies were sent to new homes, and Enalius's bloodline lived on in secret. It is unknown if it continues today._

Nesta crinkled her nose. "They just... didn't know who his son was?"

Alda shook her head. "The Lords from separate camps continued ruling their separate camps, and they simply didn't have someone to rule over all of them. They still work that way now."

Nesta was silent, running her eyes over each of the babes. All of them orphaned - were they ever told the truth? Or did they believe that they were the children of their new parents - did any of them ever wonder if they were truly the son of the great warrior Enalius? Fight for his fallen crown?

"What happened to your parents?" she asked suddenly, fork going still. "Are they here?"

Alda's lips twitched. "Some people might consider that a tactless question."

"In my experience, most people don't care."

Alda dipped her head, hiding her expression from Nesta's view.

"They live on the Continent," Alda said. "Probably waiting for me. A cottage in the deep woods. Last time I was there, father was very sick. And he was a hunter. So I took it upon myself to venture out and find some dinner for mother, some herbs to speed up his recovery. Koschei had also thought that day to be a fine time for a walk. I didn't get so lucky, bumping into him."

Nesta thought of the depthless eyes, cold smile, and shuddered at the thought of him appearing from nowhere, to take you away forever. At least she'd been stuck with the emissaries.

"You wandered onto the lands of his lake?"

"I seemed to have gotten lost." Alda looked down, and Nesta looked away. 

She'd had a choice - Cassian had let her choose to come here. But it wasn't a choice. Not when she would never, never let him fight for her again. She had been the one to suggest it in the war, and that was when things had gone to hell.

"It must be nice," she said quietly. "To know that someone is waiting for you."

Alda glanced up, a shy smile now blooming. "Must be nicer," she replied in equal quiet, "to know someone would have died to let you stay."

Nesta had told the story vaguely, so she knew Alda was exaggerating, and scoffed to herself as she went back to her book and meal.

But some part of her knew she also wasn't far off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks for your lovely comments! And look at that, I'm still updating. I've broken the writer's block with my drafting (to some extent), so hopefully I can keep up the streak. You will not believe how good it's going to get...!


	21. Bitchy Illyrians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian is not in the mood to deal with bitchy Illyrians - and if they get on his nerves, they're going to find out the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy to believe I'm publishing a chapter I only wrote a few days ago! But I was on a roll today and I drafted about three more (intense) chapters, so I wouldn't want you guys to get too behind. Trying to condense things down but it looks like we've still got a while to go if you're willing to stick with me for that long... :)

Bitchy Illyrians were the last thing on Cassian's mind.

The last. Goddammed. Thing.

Unfortunately, they seemed to be forefront as far as big issues came, and being based in Illyria, he was the one who had to take care of it. So bitchy Illyrians it was.

Ironcrest camp, the notorious and eternal rival of Windhaven, was the centre for the horrors swirling their way throughout Illyria, so that was where Cassian was headed today. His mind silent as stone throughout the flight.

Usually, there was music. There was laughter. As if those nights with the Court of Dreams played on repeat in the background of his mind, his time airborne its favourite time to play. But now, there was cold calculation and grounded wonderings. A merciless machine - perhaps it was best for them to see him that way for the time being, anyways.

Mor had left that morning - from the Estate. She'd farewelled him last night, knowing he had too many things to do to fly back and forth.

 _I want you to know that things end,_ she had said, quiet enough it was as if she were hiding her words from somebody. _Pain ends. Longing ends._

 _Sometimes you get a happy ending out of it,_ she'd went on, looking him in the eyes now, _and sometimes you just evolve to accept that the ending was long ago. But either way, I will make sure there is... something right in this ending._

Cassian had merely blinked at her. At the words not meant for him at all, perhaps not for any of them.

 _Protecting her was not your job,_ he'd replied.

She had started, then untensed, as if having misunderstood for a moment. _It wasn't yours, either._

_I know._

But he didn't.

Nesta didn't want him to protect her, and he knew she hardly needed it, either. But that was in normal circumstances, which these sure as hell weren't. And he... he wanted to protect her anyways. Hated himself for wanting the things she hated above all else.

Chatter from the rowdiest camp began to reach his ears on the wind, and he flared his wings out for a dramatic descent. He felt the eyes of the Illyrians on him as he sank from the skies, pausing their sparring and cleaning and general terrorising. No cocky smirk today; all business.

He landed hard enough to let the ground shake, flaring his wings as wide as he could without looking like he was trying. It was an art by now, the only difference in the assassin-like expression as he growled, "Inform your lord he is meeting with me. Now."

One of the meeker warriors around him (not to say much) raced off, presumably to follow his order. Cassian straightened up, wings folding in, and for once allowed himself to relish the expressions around him. Fewer sneers than usual, considering the death glare he couldn't muster the energy to reverse.

"Come to piss on our fun again, _Commander_?" One of the seasoned warriors jeered, crossing his muscular arms and letting a dagger droop from between his fingers.

Cassian cut him a glare. No bullshit, not today. Not. In. The. Mood. "I'm here on orders from your High Lord." Hopefully to end that _fun_ for good... soon.

"Any more of our soldiers you want to steal away?" another one called, disgust in his tone.

Cassian snapped his head around, a vicious snarl ripping from his throat. "Let me know if you want to recruit."

Flapping wings distracted the soldier from his brewing retort, and Cassian looked up to see someone flying down towards him. Not the lord, though he moved with the same authority. It was worse than that.

"Kallon," Cassian growled. "I believe I sent for your father."

Kallon gave him a cruel and smug grin, puffing up his chest as he landed. "And I believe he left early this morning for meetings with another camp. So I suppose that leaves you with me."

Cassian ground his teeth. "Let's take this to your hut."

"With pleasure," Kallon crooned.

They walked there in silence, the camp slowly resuming to life around them. Every now and again, Cassian would spy women or children freezing as they walked past, looks of terror filling their faces. Cassian would bet good money that it wasn't because of him.

"What does our good High Lord wish us to discuss?" Kallon asked, mocking dripping from the tone as they entered. For the hut of an up-himself camp lord, it was surprisingly modest.

"We've been lead to believe discontent is rising in the Illyrians. Primarily from here. And primarily from you," Cassian clarified. All cards on the table.

Kallon's eyebrows shot up, once again looking mocking. "Lead to believe by what?"

"Facts."

Kallon shrugged, as if to say, _very well, then._ "And what of it."

Cassian clenched his jaw. "You need to learn to hold your tongue before we find a way to teach you."

Kallon feigned surprise. Little asshole. "And how, exactly, would your little circle do that?"

Cassian bunched one hand into a fist. Stay cool... as cool as possible. Shut him the fuck up and then get the fuck out. "If I were you, I'd keep my head down and behave before I got the Blood Rite snatched out of my grubby paws."

Kallon smirked. "Maybe I'm still finding a way to cheat my way through like you and your _brothers_."

Cassian started. This was bad... worse than he'd thought. Things would soon grow out of hand from here. 

"Clean up your act and give two shits about the consequences of what you fucking say are," Cassian spat. "We're warriors. Ancient warriors who have learned to play dirty. But one of these days, we're going to learn to play fair. And you might want to pray you'll still be around to see that."

Kallon's eyes sparked. "Ooh, so we are doing threats, then! How're you gonna take me out? Blast me to bits with your stolen Siphons?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit._ There was nowhere to go from this point. Nothing Cassian could say.

Nothing but, "Watch your chances. There are worse things out there from me, and some people will have no problem in letting you go to them."

"I'd likely prefer it," he sniped back.

Cassian didn't answer. The boy's father was a prized bastard, but _that_ was who he'd come to see, not this underage deviant with an impulse to lie. He'd report back to his brothers and they could work something out together. Not now. It was too much now.

So he pushed his way out of the hut, ignoring the snickers and whispers that followed him outside, and pushed off into the sky as fast as he could go.


	22. Former Paramour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koschei invites Nesta for a walk in the garden, and she decides she'd rather explore his library instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *heavy breathing* _You guys are going to love this_
> 
> I need to write some more because the next couple of chapters are soul-shreddingly angsty and I want you to read them ASAP!!!!

"What do you want."

Koschei smiled as Nesta fell into step beside him. "I knew you'd come."

Nesta gritted her teeth. "What. Do. You. Want."

Koschei laughed lightly, pausing the gentle stroll he'd been taking around the gardens. He gestured lazily to the land around him. "To spend some time with my beloved _mate,_ of course."

How that word grated on her ears, her brain. _Mate._ He knew it, too, the bastard. That was why he'd summoned her that morning not with a bodyguard but a tug on the mating bond. Drawing her here for a _walk in the fucking garden._

"Fine," Nesta bit out. "Lead the way, _master."_

Koschei cackled. "I figured you'd like those games, _beloved."_

They walked in silence for not nearly long enough, flowers slowly dying on all sides as Winter began to close in. But it was Nesta to break the blessed silence as they made their way to the top of a small grassy hill and viewed the yards beyond.

Birds _everywhere._ In their full bird form, part bird form, or whatever they'd been before then - fae and human, mostly. Her stomach twisted in disgust and fear and rage at the fields full of glamorous slaves.

"Where - where did they all come from?!?!" she spluttered, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. Alda had said she'd wandered here by mistake, but she'd sounded to be lost and frightened. Almost reminiscent of that long-ago journey to the wall. Surely not all these captives had met the same fate.

Koschei shrugged, likely from indifference. "Most of them sold to me. We've had many here from your Prythian lately." Nesta noticed several dark-skinned fae with white and gold feathers on their temples, bearing tattoos of the Day Court's insignia. One or two of them met her stare, freezing at the sight of Koschei beside her. "Sold to us by a dark High Lord."

That solved their little mystery, then. Nesta laughed bitterly at the thought, because it didn't solve anything for her to know. They would continue to wade through half-baked clues and ideas, and she would do nothing. Back to the usual.

"Would you like to bear wings, mate?" Koschei hummed, brushing cold fingers through her hair.

She stepped back sharply. "I don't like to fly. And I'm not some pretty peacock."

Koschei chuckled. "Reminds you too much of your former paramour?"

Nesta had just enough restraint to keep from snarling. She leveled him a flat look. "You really go out of your way to try to make me fall for you."

"Perhaps you could lend me some of your favourite romances, then. Give me some pointers." A flash of too-white teeth. "Or I could just look back over what I already know. Tell me, what was it he did that made you go from wanting to nail his balls to the wall to being willing to die for him in the war?"

Lightning zapped through Nesta, set her insides burning. She writhed with it, inside her skin, and felt the things that used to be there burning to ash. Still the flames roared on. She had wildfire where she used to have a void.

 _"I am going to blast this place to the ground,"_ she snarled. _"I am going to burn you to hell and teach you what it means to have no escape."_

"You're going to wrench the head from my shoulders," Koschei crooned. "Stuff it and hang it on your wall."

Nesta flinched, a spear of darkness shooting out from that wildfire. Even fading, the flames remained. Burning, fueling her for the first time in... in almost a year.

She turned on her heel and stalked across the paths through the gardens. Koschei let her go, just like she knew he would - he would let her go and bring her back again, keep pissing her off again and again and again. Break her in smaller increments. Instead of snapping her in two and giving her the time to heal, he would work a little bit and let the festering fear of next time break her further while he waited. A spider in a web. That's all he was.

She stormed back to the palace, hating the blinding shine of sunlight on its walls and windows. She managed to navigate the way to Alda's outside door and slammed her way inside.

The bird within squawked her surprise, talons skittering on tile, and soon popped up before Nesta. Eyes wide with questions and comfort and sympathy for things she knew nothing of.

"Take me to the library," Nesta breathed.

**.oOo.**

Alda didn't know why. Nesta knew that much. But she didn't question it once, leading her even in her bird form down mazelike and unfamiliar hallways. She would ask later. And maybe Nesta would tell her - _maybe._

The doors were just as grand as all the rest, but there was two. A dark and polished wood, with shining brass handles and even a knocker. Not one they needed to use, though. Nesta pushed open the doors, momentarily breathless at the levels and alcoves and shelves and shelves of ancient, beautiful books.

"Do you want to stay?" she asked Alda, tugging her gaze away and back to the magnificent bird.

Even the tips of her talons still outside the door, Alda lowered her head down in a no. Nesta wasn't sure if she wasn't allowed in or just didn't want to enter, but she respected it with a nod anyways. "I'll come home by sunset." She heard her friend shuffle away as she took a step inside.

She didn't know where to start, so for a moment, she only walked along a line of shelves, tracing a finger through the dust on the spines.

_Blessed and Cursed, Freed of Shadows, Little Secret, Before it Ignites …_

"Do you need help?" asked the lilting voice of a priestess behind her. She turned her head, ready to turn her down, and saw the female's dark eyes widen, jaw going slack. Right. Koschei's mate. Bound to cause a bit of a stir.

"No, thank you," she said flatly. The priestess left in a hurry, and Nesta shook her head, going back to her perusal.

She could have spent hours like that. Not even reading, just glancing over them and imagining the contents in her mind. Maybe she did; she was closer to the centre of the library when she finally glanced up.

Not including the shelves in the walls, the shelves were arranged to go in circles, little gaps appearing at random intervals to let you through. Nesta wasn't in the centre yet, but from the tightness of the circles around her she knew she was close. She should get help, now. She didn't know where she was looking... didn't _really_ know what she was looking for.

She could see the bobbing hoods of the priestesses, but not near her. Daring to venture onwards, she caught one only a few shelves down.

"Miss - " she called, gut twisting with the awkwardness of it. She kept her head high, and felt her spine lock as the priestesses eyes met hers. Revealing not an unmarred doll's face of long lashes and rosy cheeks, but the face of a young and freckled boy. He appeared to be around her age, despite the childlike, youthful features, and he smiled warmly before approaching her, robes swishing against the floor.

"Do you need help?" he asked. His voice was light, seemingly unoffended by her mistake.

"I need a book," she said lamely, unsure what to ask for. 

He smiled. "I'm good at finding those. My friends joke I could throw a rock and manage to hit an ancient tome - of course, last time I tried it, the consequences were unpleasant."

Recognising the joke for what it was, Nesta let her lips twitch up. "I won't ask for that, then."

He squinted at her, not as if he knew her from somewhere, but as if trying to read her. "What are we looking for, then? Adventures, histories, romances...?"

"Romance is fine," Nesta said, swallowing any other words down. "We can do romance."

"My favourite," he said with a wink, his hood shifting in the light to reveal a head of short orange hair. "Come with me."

She followed him through the library towards one of the wall-shelves to the side. The alcoves towards the back were still clothed in mysterious shadows, no matter how much closer she got.

"These are the best ones," he proclaimed, gesturing broadly to the shelf they'd come to. "There are circles of them, too. But these are the best." He pulled one off from above his head, blowing off a thin layer of dust that suggested someone had been reading it fairly recently. He extended it to her in an offering. _Embers and Light._

"The greatest love story of all time," he declared. "Along with this one, this one and this one."

Nesta pursed her lips to hide a smile at his frenzied pointing. "I guess I know who to ask for recommendations, then."

He smiled softly. "Catrin," he said. "Just in case you can't find me next time."

She smiled back, tight though the expression felt. "Nesta," she replied. Even though he probably knew.

If he did, he didn't show it. Just handed her the book, and wandered slightly down the shelves, floor length robes swishing.

Nesta looked at the book. Looked at the others. And slowly started to form a stack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the book titles were just chapters in another story I've written, but _Embers and Light_ is a different Nessian fanfiction written by **duskandstarlight**  
>  I don't know how to add a link on here, but it's in my bookmarks if anyone wants to check it out between my updates...! ;)


	23. Long Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta drags herself out from the library and makes dinner with Alda. (They talk, too, it's not _that_ boring.)

"There you are!"

Nesta glanced up from the pages as Alda's voice called out to her. She knew it was after sunset, but there were only a few windows in the library and she'd lost track of time. Alda was, as to be expected, already making dinner.

"What are you reading?" Alda asked, gliding over with a grace that didn't come just from her other form. "Romance again?"

"Yeah," Nesta murmured. Not what she'd been planning to get, but she'd panicked when he'd asked. She'd go back some other time.

Alda read the cover of the one Nesta had been immersed in, making sure to keep her page. " _Homecoming_." She skimmed the blurb on the back. " _Cleo and Anouk have been separated for hundreds of years, an ocean cutting between the path that joins their hearts throughout all. But war is coming - to both continents. And while it guarantees Cleo a passage home and back together, their future now hangs in the balance. It's not the homecoming they envisaged... and it may or may not even be their last._ " Sliding the book back into Nesta's arms, she asked, "Is it good?"

"Disgustingly sappy," she drawled in reply. Not deigning to mention she liked that, sometimes. As long as there was smut eventually.

Alda chuckled. "Looks like you have plenty of backups if it doesn't satisfy you."

Nesta said nothing, hitching up the stack leaning against her and following Alda towards the living room and kitchen.

She hadn't started _Embers and Light_ , even though Catrin had claimed it to be his favourite. It was probably packed with clichés and mating bonds and all the stuff that most of Alda's books contained, anyways - why she'd chosen to begin with _Homecoming_. It had sounded the most normal, and so far hadn't disappointed in that respect.

She deposited her books in a pile on the couch and wandered into the kitchen to see what Alda was preparing. She was stirring what looked to be the beginnings of a stew, nothing more than chicken in a pot yet. Without a word, Nesta wiped a wet cloth over the board beside her and picked up a knife, putting it to one of the several piles of vegetables there.

She felt Alda watching her movements, and adamantly refused to acknowledge it. She hadn't helped with anything since she'd arrived here - most days Alda was lucky to get a conversation out of her, a bite of the meal into her mouth. 

Well, if she had questions, go ahead and ask them. Nesta waited.

She felt Alda hesitate before opening her mouth. "You went to see Koschei today."

Nesta didn't falter. "He tugged on the bond. Wanted to show me the gardens."

She caught Alda's sidelong glance. "How does that tie to you wanting desperately to stock up on romance books?"

"I didn't go to get romance books. I was looking for something else." She tossed a handful of scraps in a bowl on the counter. "I couldn't find them, or work up the nerve to ask for them. So I got romance books for now. I'm going to try again later."

Alda was silent, likely in contemplation, her wooden spoon clunking against the bottom of her pot. After a moment, she settled on a simple, "What does a bond feel like?"

"You're the one with the shelves of shitty books about it, you tell me."

Alda snorted. "Like I'm supposed to take the word of someone who calls it a fucking _love stick_."

Nesta choked on a laugh. She'd never heard the mild-mannered Alda swear before, had she...? "Nobody calls it a _love stick_."

"You were smart enough to stop reading that one, then. Good. I'm pretty sure the same author also called it a _master of ceremonies_."

Nesta groaned. "Never have sex with a writer."

Alda laughed, her eyes sparkling, then slowly mellowed. As if the light emanating from her was dimming back to serious. "So? What's your description? Of the _bond_ , smartass," she added hurriedly before Nesta could open her mouth.

Nesta sighed. "I first thought of it as like a bridge, like they always say. The most basic way to describe it, I guess - but it's a bridge of smoke and shadows and wicked, wicked darkness. As if it belongs to him and to him alone." _Or maybe that's what resides in me too._ "It's completely tangible and real, but at the same time not. Like ink dropped into water, but I can feel it. I don't know what it would feel like if I... accepted the bond."

Alda nodded slowly, taking it in. "And it's just.... always there? All the time? Or do you only feel it if one of you is using it?"

"Always there," Nesta clarified. "And it feels like a solid string in your chest pulled taut, when he tugs on it." Because like hell _she_ ever would.

It had taken nearly a week to adjust to the sensation of it, after it had first made an appearance. A whole new part of her, in her soul, that was always there and always in her way. Sleepless nights spent curled around that one glowing vine along it by some instinct and hope, even as it near flickered out entirely.

The onyx bridge was like a star of darkness, the edges constantly surging and receding like a tide. They never let her be but it had gotten easier. Even if that vine, that shred of self, remained dim enough to be mistaken for an illusion most of the time.

Alda scooped the slices of carrot off the board and into the stew, and Nesta started on the beans, cutting off the tops and flicking them into the scraps bowl.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Alda began, "but... did you ever hear about the mating bond when you were in the mortal realm? Ever think about it?"

"I - " Nesta paused, studying the female. She had the classically pointed ears of the fae, but her face, with her rounded cheeks and aura of childlike mischief, in opposition to the elegance of most fae... it screamed human.

Swallowing the questions she was in no position to ask, Nesta nodded. "Not in depth. And it wasn't common conversation - very taboo. But we knew of it, and as young girls, we would often daydream about it. Not with the fae, as we hated and feared them. But with one another."

How long ago those days had been. A lowly human wearing an iron band warmer than what lay within, daydreaming about being told by the universe that she was destined to love and be loved, forever and ever. She had once told Elain about it - that she hoped to be married off not just for Feyre's sake. Elain had not pressed her, only began babbling about her own plans for the matter.

So, so long ago.

"Humans don't _have_ mating bonds, then?"

Nesta shook her head. "Sometimes with the fae, as it was with my youngest sister. But rarely. We - they - were made to live everything to the fullest in the short time they have. Made to love hard, and grieve hard, and feel everything as if it is all that matters. Because it is for them.

"Whereas the fae have hundreds, thousands of years. They can afford to wage wars, and win conquests, and listen to what the universe tells them. They can afford to live through things like a gradual love, or a shallow love, or even no love at all, because they know they'll have the time to get what they want eventually.

"Fae are good at waiting and knowing they'll get it, in time. Humans are good at seizing what they do have and calling it a miracle, dying thinking they wouldn't have it any other way." Her knife echoed with every dull thud into the board.

Alda was quiet for a moment. "They," she said softly. "You don't identify with either of them?"

She'd nearly classified herself as a human. But months of the lithe body and pointed ears and she still wasn't a fae.

"I tried, for a while," she said simply. "To revel in what I had and love everything around me. Like humans were meant to learn to do - find some things to love above all else and live submerged in it. Tried to see the bullshit I was thrown in as a gods-damned blessing. But only my sister succeeded with that."

Elain, in the mortal lands. Feyre now. 

"I tried with the fae thing, too. I guess I can still be trying. Patient." She smiled grimly, heaping the beans into the pot. "But I was never really either of them. And I guess I knew that."

_Something different prowls beneath our skin._

"Archeron," Alda murmured. Then she shook her head, eyes clearing. "Can you reach something for me?"

A grim attempt at a smile. "Happy to help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I self-burned myself but my smut scenes aren't _that_ bad, I swear.
> 
> Also I'm trying to write the drafts really really fast because the next chapter is the best one yet and it is so angsty... like... my hair will be very shiny from washing it with all your tears


	24. The Next World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with_ you, _Nesta."_
> 
> Cassian isn't the only one with regrets.

_"I can't." The words ripped from her as if they'd once been embedded in her lungs, torn away by the sheer force of the things coursing through her in that moment. "I_ can't."

_There was grief she couldn't comprehend and pain she couldn't endure. Shredding her to pieces from the inside out, the way he'd been shredded on the outside._

_His blood was everywhere. In the grass and dirt and roots and all over her as she knelt in it. Knelt with him, because he could not go with her, and she was not enough to save him now._

_She was not enough._

_As if sensing the thoughts, he slid his bloodied hands to cup her cheeks, the most intimate and vulnerable gesture they'd ever shared together. That she'd ever shared - with anyone._

_"I have no regrets in my life, but this." His voice trembled violently, the same way his hands did against her face. One trembling from what it took physically, and the other emotionally - because neither of them had ever spoken of time. Never spoken of wanting it or having it, and yet it was still stripped away from them. Something in Nesta's chest pulsed in agony._

_"That we did not have time. That I did not have time with_ you, _Nesta."_

_She couldn't move - didn't want to - as his brutalized body shifted up, just enough to brush her mouth with his. There was a light in her heart - amidst all the death and killing and despair and defeat, there was a selfish little string of pure light, pulsing and glowing and sparkling like magic, just at that whisper of a kiss. The last kiss and the first kiss and the last of everything because she'd spent so many months being so goddamned stupid -_

_Strong, callused fingers were gentle against her skin as they brushed away a tear she hadn't realised was there. And his voice was gentle, soft, as he told her, "I will find you again in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time together. I promise."_

_Only he wouldn't find her there. Not if he gave his life to let her remain in this world. This hollow and broken husk of a world, in which she had never belonged and never been wanted by anyone but him. She hadn't seen it before, like she did now - the way he'd tried to make a home for her over these past few months. Flying to meet her even when his wings were barely healed. Riling her for a reaction, for a fight so she never slipped away. Not speaking to her for days on end if he sensed she needed to be left alone, even if that sense was sometimes wrong. Even then, he'd tried._

_She had never had anyone try solely for_ her _before._

_At the crunch of half-shattered branches and the shudder of death-magic, Nesta looked up and away from him. To the king with torture twining in shadows around his hands, a bloodthirsty smile on his lips as he watched them taking their final breaths in the same air. She looked back._

_She hadn't helped him. She hadn't done a single thing, in all their time knowing one another, to merit anything from him. Not kindness and hardly acknowledgement. Yet here he lay, on his deathbed, in the hopes she might survive. Promising to do it all again if she didn't._

_She wanted to do it again. Wanted to do it better._

_So she lay her body over his, pressing close even as he stilled. Draping her fae legs over and making sure there was no part of him the king could touch without getting her as well. She wanted to go with him - go to that new world, perhaps a better one. Leave this one the same in doing so. A last bit of selfishness that would cost no one more dearly than the pair of them._

_His broad hand slid over her back, clutching her to him as best as he could without injuring himself further. An acceptance and agreement -_ yes, _that touch said._ Yes, I wasn't lying. I want you in that new world. I want you with me there. Yes. 

Yes.

_"Romantic," drawled the demonic voice of the king behind them, "but ill-advised."_

_The string of light in her had never glowed brighter. It had always been there, as far as she could recall, but always dim and flickering as if it wanted to exist no more than her herself. Now, it was near blinding in some sort of feral ecstasy she couldn't understand - wasn't sure if it was from this nearing end and promise of a new beginning, or from the promises spoken and unspoken, between someone she never thought she'd give everything for. Someone she'd never thought could_ be _everything. Maybe she did understand it, after all._

_Her hand lay on one of his Siphons, she realised. Nearly dead in colour, the emptiness of his power funelling into it. What was left of her power trickling in by connection, too._

_And that was when the symbols appeared, flared._

_So fast she couldn't discern them, it had happened - but every time she dreamed this scene, relived it in her sleep, it slowed. Exactly the same, until now, when it slowed, every symbol lasting an hour and burning into the backs of her eyelids._

__Find me, _the symbols begged in every pause._ Find me.

_She met his eyes after that; he hadn't noticed. Just gave her a soft look, an apology for this world and a request for the next one, all at once. And it was always at that moment - in every dream and every reality - that she was sucked away, away from that moment and that body, and away from Cassian._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of term rush is coming up at school for me so this might be the last update for a little while. Leave me comments and hopefully I won't leaving you hanging for _too_ long...


	25. Conduits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta can't shake the dream - can't shake the message within. She has to decipher what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might not be able to see it from the short chapters (they get longer soon), but this story just keeps getting LONGER! It's easily the longest thing I've ever written, and as an unpublished novelist, that's quite the accomplishment. 112 pages thus far... 28 chapters... I hope you guys are in it for the long haul (imagine saying that to a SJM reader, hehe). Enjoy what I have so far!

Alda found her early enough she was still in her fae form. 

She hadn't been able to sleep after waking from that dream, and had staggered into the living room, going for the tome on Illyrians as if a tether drew her there. She didn't know how many hours she'd been poring through it by now - likely a few.

"Finished the romance already?" was all Alda asked, noticing the book on her lap. She came to sit next to Nesta on the couch.

"Couldn't sleep," Nesta replied, even though that didn't answer the question. She turned a page. "I needed... answers."

Alda didn't ask what she needed answers to. Just yawned a little and leaned over enough to see the page Nesta was on.

_**Siphons**  
Contrary to some beliefs, Enalius was not the first to have or use Siphons, having actually died before their innovation. As the generations of Illyrians bred within each other and evolved, their mighty "killing power" was honed and became stronger, more lethal. Other elements they once bore in terms of power (fire, water, ice, light, darkness, etc) dissipated in exchange for the death-magic that grew with every generation, growing more unwieldy in time as well. As the control began to slip, there was talk of the race leading to extinction - and that was where the Siphons at last came in._

"I need to know about the Siphon's own magic," Nesta murmured, skim reading. "Not just how it channels Illyrian magic."

Alda hummed a little to herself, then turned a page for her. She tapped the paper a little. "I think that's it."

Wordlessly, Nesta let her eyes run over the information, willing her tired mind to absorb the words there. 

_Siphons come in three colours - red, blue, and green. They are made from a magical conduit stone similar to quartz and were long held as sacred to the Illyrians, believing them to be conduits to more than just magic.  
All Illyrians were gifted a single Siphon upon completion of their training, however successful this may have been. This allowed them not just to keep their dangerous power in check, but it was seen as a marker of gods they have since ceased to worship. To both show and feel their connection, it was said the stones could be used to communicate with those in other worlds. Methods to do this are unknown, and have been lost for centuries._

Nesta's heart pounded in her chest, in her ears. 

Communication with other worlds - that's what the Siphons could do. Symbols in a language long lost here... or just one she was yet to think of?

"I'll get you some tea," Alda said softly, recognising Nesta wasn't going back to bed anytime soon. She shifted off the couch, and Nesta clutched the book tighter, pulling the text closer to her eyes.

_While Siphons' power is vastly undiscovered and/or forgotten, no evidence shows them to have lost their legendary abilities. For several years before Hybern's reign settled on the Illyrian's home continent of Prythian, some faeries were said to be experimenting with the abilities of the Siphons, trying to rediscover how to use them and what for. These experiments were found out by the lords of their respective camps and things did not end well._

Nesta was gripping the book too tightly - her fae strength was going to tear the paper if she didn't stop. She forced herself to lessen her grip, just slightly. Her hands shook around the pages nevertheless.

She was just tired. She was going to get some sleep and wake up and think this was the sort of thing that could be seen coming, totally normal for a fae world. She was going to wake up and realise she'd hallucinated the symbols, hallucinated all of it. She was going to wake up normal.

Alda came back to the couch, a mug of steaming tea in her hands. She handed it to Nesta before sitting back down, wordlessly watching as Nesta brought it to her lips and drank.

Swallowing the mouthful of spicy, fruity warmth, mildly soothing her panic, Nesta brought the mug back down to the table and turned to Alda. Watching her with soft, impossibly understanding eyes, perfectly content just to sit in silence and let Nesta work through this madness on her own. Her heart strained as she opened her mouth, the question tumbling out.

"Do you think it's too early to visit the library?"

**.oOo.**

She'd promised to go back later. Maybe she should wait until later than now.

But this was a dream that told her to hurry up. It was a dream she'd had in the nights leading up to her exile in Illyria and a dream she'd had leading up to her capture to the continent. There was a message in that dream, beyond all the pain she lived over and over, watching it again or not. She owed it to somebody - though she couldn't discern who - to work it out.

The doors were not locked, and it wouldn't surprise Nesta if the cavernous space within never closed. She doubted it was a place Koschei frequented, unless he felt the need to show off all the fancy volumes he had no doubt taken pains to collect. Several priestesses looked up at her arrival - Alda close to her side, this time. Nesta met each and every stare, and strode to the nearest shelves.

"What are we looking for?" Alda asked quietly, following her obediently.

"Languages," Nesta murmured, scouring the titles for one she couldn't read. "Symbols."

Alda stilled, then turned. "Maybe we should ask one of the priestesses." No questions as to why, how that linked to the Siphons.

Almost as soon as she had suggested it, Nesta heard her name in a sheepishly familiar voice, from behind one of the bookcases. Sure enough, Catrin was standing there, billowing robes half-enveloping him, crescent charm on his forehead near-glowing.

"Do you need help?" he asked. He didn't seem to notice Alda's attention, curiosity or something else.

"Thank you for the romance books," Nesta said by way of greeting. "I think I need something else, though."

"Such is the way with reading," Catrin said, a beam breaking over his boyish face. "What can I find this time?"

"Books on languages. Symbols, to be specific."

He winked playfully at her. "I knew you were a female of many tastes. This way, Nesta."

Alda fell into step beside her as she followed Catrin through the maze of shelves and books and various precious artefacts, collected from all across the world.

"Do you ever sleep?" she asked him as they walked.

He chuckled. "I could ask you the same thing. But no. That's my part of Koschei's curse." He looked over at her. "You were here in the afternoon, so you can't be one of his birdgirls. What's your curse?"

"No curse." Her heart sped up, begging her not to voice the truth. "I've been brought here because I am Koschei's mate." She moved past him, not difficult now that he'd frozen still. "Are these the books?"


	26. Shadowsinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian tells his brothers of the situation in Illyria.... far worse than any of them could have thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I OFFICIALLY HATE THE NEW AO3 UPDATE. It's changed the formatting even more so that when I copy and paste my work it comes up in one big block of text with _zero_ paragraphing whatsoever, and it takes two to three times as long to format the damned thing....   
> But anyways. I actually got you another chapter in good time for once! Maybe not something to be happening too often from now, because Inktober starts today...! (Find me on Instagram at @rebelle_wing if you're interested.) And thus, on with the actual chapter...

"I didn't realise it was that bad." Rhys ran a hand through his hair, shoulders tense with a burden Cassian hated to put there.

"Neither did I," he said grimly, hunching over the table. "He might have just been acting out to get a rise out of me - but it seems more than likely he'd be spreading this shit, too."

"We need to talk to Az," Rhys sighed.Their brother hadn't joined them for the meeting today, not deigning to meet them in their makeshift tent in the Ironcrest camps. Rhys had claimed he was busy, taking his spies work elsewhere in Prythian. Likely the Autumn Court, though he hadn't specified. Maybe the mortal lands.

"What good can Az do?" Cassian asked, hating the words as he spoke them. "He doesn't set foot in Illyria. Cauldron knows he has his reasons for that, but I just..." He shook his head. "I don't see there being a solution for this, anyways. This kind of stuff runs too deep in our people. None of us can do a thing about it, short of you and Feyre cutting into every one of their minds individually. Which I know you wouldn't do anyways."

Rhys set his jaw. "You know it isn't that easy, Cassian."

He did. He knew it, and he'd known it for ages, too. But he was so gods-damned sick of it - sick of the Illyrians and who they were and what they did and what they stood for. He'd been sick of them for over five centuries and he was done playing nice. He was done being patient and trying to coax them into change. He couldn't force anything, and he hated that Rhys was able to, even if he never did and never would.

"Get Feyre to come and talk to them," Cassian suggested, dragging over a seat as he grew tired of standing and pacing. "Her painting stuff can't be keeping her that busy."

Rhys shifted in his seat. "It's dangerous here. Especially for a female - and one unused to Illyrians."

Cassian glowered. "She took on the Weaver and survived _before_ she learned to use her powers. She made it through hell over and over again before she was even _fae_. She can handle a little diplomacy among assholes."

Rhys blew out an acquiescing breath. "I'll talk to her later."

Never mind the fact they could whisper into each other's heads whenever they pleased.

Speaking of which and glad to change the subject, Cassian asked him, "Have you heard anything from Mor?"

Rhys shook his head, teeth gritted. "Not a whisper. But I'll take no news as good news."

Cassian said quietly, "She couldn't be caged here anymore. Regardless of Velaris being a free place, being her home - she always needed more."

Rhys sighed. "I know."

"Keir and Eris were the final straw."

"I fucked up." Rhys mussed his hair again, stress showing. "I couldn't think of another bargain to make. But I still fucked it up. She deserved better than that, and I still did it. Still didn't tell her beforehand."

Cassian looked at him silently for a moment. "You have a tendency to do that. To not tell us shit even when it changes our lives completely."

Rhys looked at him with his eyes open to the emotions within, grave and honest and bare. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. And even though Cassian believed him, even though he'd forgiven him long ago, he had a feeling that didn't mean it was the last of it.

As if hearing those thoughts, he added, "And I'll tell you if I think of anything for this. We're in this together."

Cassian said nothing. Just listened to the shouting of the Illyrians outside, his dreams for the race getting further from reach with every moment. His hopes abandoning him, too.

**.oOo.**

Rhys left that night, as Cassian thought he would. Azriel arrived shortly after, something he hadn't expected.

But the shadowsinger was there, scaring the shit out of all the overgrown douchebags mulling around the camp and whipping plumes of darkness towards anyone whose sneers lingered a moment too long. Cassian made his way towards his brother, both of them with their wings casually stretched out. Cassian's, perhaps _slightly_ more than casually. Azriel sporting a gentle smirk to say he knew it, and exactly why.

"Greetings, bastard," Cassian drawled, aware of the eyes on them both. "You here in Rhysie's stead?"

Azriel's lips twitched further to one side. "Poor baby High Lord. Leaving us so soon to run home to his mate's arms."

Cassian huffed a laugh. "I have a tent at the top." Azriel wrinkled his nose, eyes twinkling. "As far out of this shithole as you could get, I hope." His voice was casual, but remained loud enough for all around them to hear. By no accident, Cassian knew.

They began a silent trek up to the humble lodgings, ignoring the chatter that slowly started again once their backs were turned. In unison, they each flared their wings further, Cassian scowling at the strain as he tried to make his stretch further. Azriel let out a rough laugh this time, and stretched his own wings as wide as he could.

"So," Azriel finally said as they both slipped into the tent. "What kind of bullshit are we dealing with?"

So they sat down, and Cassian relayed the conversation for the second time that day. He left out the end part, the words he could barely stomach to relive in his own mind. 

_"Watch your chances. There are worse things out there from me, and some people will have no problem in letting you go to them."_

_"I'd likely prefer it."_

He didn't think too long on the haunting sentiments, instead studying his brother's reaction for any hint of emotion.

Shadows flicked over Azriel's face, around his wings, and for a long time, the male was silent.

"I wish they were all dead," he said quietly. His voice was ice. "Every one of those alpha-aggressive-possessive assholes. All of them."

Cassian didn't bother to vouch for any of them. He just said roughly, "I know. But we can't... make that a reality."

"Illyria didn't use to be like this," Azriel gritted out.

"It used to be worse," Cassian pointed out.

"I meant at the start."

Cassian said nothing as Azriel stood, pacing a few steps before stopping with his back turned. The muscles there were unbearably tense, wings stiff, and pain leeched off him as tangible as any shadow.

"Sometimes I wish I was not one of them."

"So do I," Cassian said, coming to standing. Something he rarely admitted, even to himself, as someone whose whole life revolved around the beasts. He crossed the room to stand at his brother's side. "But I wish more for them to become something I can want to associate with."

Again, Azriel was silent for a long time. Cassian could never decide if he hated or loved his predictable silences, the torturous pauses between every word and every sentence. Now - was he impatient for answers, or in need of a soothing, silent presence?

After what felt like eternity, Azriel cocked his head, turning his face just a little bit towards Cassian.

"I sent my spies. To the continent."

Cassian's jaw tightened at the unexpected change in subject. "Good."

"I'm going to get reports from them soon," he continued. "Send them deeper into the palace, if I can. But I've had one or two there for quite a while now, just testing the waters and so forth. Since Vassa's arrival here."

Cassian only repeated, "Good." He felt Azriel watching his face and made a point not to let their eyes meet.

"We'll get her back," he said, words of wrath and vengeance and soul-deep promise.

"If she wants to," Cassian replied mildly.

"She'll want to."

"Last she was here, she didn't want much of anything."

Azriel turned to face Cassian fully this time. "Because we weren't done slaying the demons inside her yet. We'll get there. We'll all get there."

They couldn't slay demons that belonged to her, though. Cassian knew that. It would be as difficult as the battle he himself faced, in trying to slay the demons within him, growing and writhing at her absence, her presence, and her being. Impossible to slay the ever-brimming desire to have her, be near her, and see a sparkle of wholeness in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to ask your opinions on the cover? Still love to hear what you thought of the chapter of course, haha. Personally, I prefer the older covers but this one is perfectly gorgeous, and the hate from the toxic fandom is just a little too much for me...


	27. Beyond Useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta can't find symbols. Alda has a _meeting_. And Koschei has a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I
> 
> Hate
> 
> The new AO3 update
> 
> Why would they do this to me
> 
> Why

So many fucking symbols.

It looked like a child had scrawled over the page with a crayon in most cases, pretending to be coherent and making random lines. Nesta couldn't stand it - couldn't _stand_ the hours wasted pouring over _nothing._

"What can I do?" Alda asked gently, hovering at her shoulder. She'd remained more or less that way since they'd arrived, not including ducking away for a short conversation with Catrin. She couldn't help Nesta find the language, not when she hadn't seen the dream and didn't even _know_ about it - but she seemed insistent on staying.

"You should go," Nesta said blandly. "The sun will rise soon. And I assume you can't be in here after the fact."

She felt Alda chill beside her, as if freezing the air around them. "I have a meeting today," she murmured. "Of sorts."

Nesta didn't ask what she meant, the same way Alda never asked why the symbols were important. She only said, "I'll be home by sunset."

Alda remained where she was, breathing slowly. As if steeling herself before she straightened up and made her way between the shelves of books, graceful beyond words. Nesta watched her go for just a moment before returning to the final pages.

Useless. Beyond useless.

Huffing, she slammed the heavy tone shut and shoved it across to the other side of the table. She got to her feet, chair clattering behind her, and stormed through the shelves. Something useful - another book, Catrin, anything -

She stifled a cry as she slammed into something, falling backwards. Not a bookshelf, and not a priestess. It was one of the Day Court males she'd seen in the garden that day with Koschei, with dark skin and tightly braided black hair that fell past his shoulders. His hazel eyes, a vast contrast to the rest of him, widened in alarm as they fell on her.

"My apologies," he managed to stammer out. Almost as an afterthought, he eased into a shaky bow. "Majesty."

Nesta sneered. "Call me that again," she warned, easing into standing, "and I'll _make_ you sorry."

He shrank back slightly. "Understood."

She sighed, trying not to let her straightened posture sag. "Are you looking for a priestess?"

His eyes darted from his sandaled feet to her once more. "Just a book."

"What kind of book?" she asked, scanning the shelves herself. _Symbols, symbols -_ "Sizzling romance, right? The sappiest, most searing love story of all time?"

His cheeks burned enough that she could feel it in the air. "What are you looking for?"

She huffed, preparing to return to the table. She felt his hesitant footfalls following her, awaiting the answer she was still cultivating. "Symbols," she admitted. "But I don't know what language they're in. None of these," she added, gesturing to the thickest of the tomes, and her first perusal.

She watched the Day Court male squint at the title, then glance over the languages inside.

"Those are more popular dialects," he proclaimed. "Mostly sacred ones, from various fae cultures. A few from human cultures, it appears. I'm not fluent in any of these, though. Just a few rarer ones." He returned to his casual posture and explained, "I was a scholar, back in Prythian. I worked mostly in ancient history - the parts forgotten by the rest of the world."

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "Makes for more interesting party stories?"

He smiled slightly. "Keeps the valiant from dying. The ones who paved the way here, who are no longer remembered..." He shook his head. "My favoured project, I was close to a breakthrough - in connecting dots nobody had thought to compare before me - when I was... taken. The project...." His voice dropped. "It involved Koschei. He must have worked it out."

Nesta didn't tell him that that wasn't how the kidnappings appeared to have happened. She only asked, "And you had close relations with the High Lord, yes? As such a talented scholar."

Once again, his cheeks burned and the sensation of it filled the air around them. "I suppose," he murmured, giving Nesta his answer. Cassian had found the right dots - he just hadn't connected them all yet.

An ache filled her at the thought of his name, remembering the recurring nightmare that had lead her to the library in the first place. Remembering the reasons she'd avoided him ever since that moment - all of them. Wondering again if they were worth it.

"Go ahead and look through with me if you want to," Nesta said sharply, nodding to the male's browsing of her selection. "But I don't think you'll know whether or not you've found the right language quite as well as me."

He looked up, those caramel eyes even warier than Alda's were these days. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"The right symbols" was Nesta's only reply. She sat back down, drawing a new book towards her. "Go ahead and join me." 

He paused for a moment, then slowly drew out his own chair.

"My name's Zenith," he ventured, his light voice soft.

Nesta glanced over the pages. "Nesta," she said, "but I'm sure you knew that already."

"I'm not daemati," he said.

She smirked. It wasn't what she meant, but it gave her an answer anyways. "A refreshing change."

**.oOo.**

The wraith smiled. "I suspect you won't be too chatty, but that's all the better to have you listening."

Alda tilted her long neck, feathers rustling. She didn't know what she'd expected, being asked to a meeting - was the wraith meant to bind her back into her other body? - but this still didn't feel right. Nothing felt right here, except the rhythms. Making breakfast, making small talk to Nesta while she made her eat it. Making a fuss until Nesta got herself lunch. Returning to her preferred form in time to make dinner, sometimes these days with Nesta at her side. Taking care of Nesta at least gave her some semblance of norm, and while she was sure the female could take care of herself, well... she couldn't always. Nesta needed help to _find_ herself again after all she'd been through, and Alda was still hopeful she was good enough at that.

The wraith leaned back, crossing one ankle over the other. Squinting at the humanoid body beneath the classic swirling shadows, Alda wondered if they were really a wraith at all - perhaps partly one. Perhaps one that had stolen a body just to have something to move in. Any number of circumstance could create the appearance of the creature before her... but what had brought them _here,_ specifically?

"The mate of Koschei, deathless," mused the wraith. That was all they said. Then they shot Alda a grin, one she took to say that they were messing with her. "You mean a great deal to her, do you not?"

Alda tucked her head back, closer to her body. Shrinking away from a question she wasn't sure she wanted to answer. As if the wraith didn't already know.

"Don't fear me, my love," they crooned. "Not when I'm the least of your worries in this place. Not when we'll be spending _so much_ time together."

Alda shrank back further, and the wraith raised their hands, palms outwards. Surrender. "If you don't trust me, we can't have a proper conversation, now, can we? Why don't we give it some time, then. Let me know when you can look me in the eye and answer my questions." As if in mocking to the statement, a swirl of shadowy death floated over the wraith's eyes.

Alda wanted to speak. Hated everything about her _stupid curse,_ every layer that went deeper than the body and... and _everything._ She hated it with anger that burned, anger that devoured her from the inside. Anger like she'd felt from Nesta earlier. More than once, when she thought her straight face meant Alda had no idea.

"Seek me out tonight, when you have more of a tongue on you," the wraith winked. "It shouldn't be difficult."

The shadows around them rippled until that semblance of body vanished, leaving Alda alone in the room. She shivered, feathers fluffing.

Not Koschei - that wasn't who'd sent the wraith. But something about them set terror into her blood regardless.

**.oOo.**

"Tell me about mates."

Ilyon and Raelle exchanged a glance behind Koschei's back.

"What about them, greatness?" Ilyon ventured.

Koschei turned his head, just a little, so that a smile was visible. "Everything. Tell me what wins them."

Raelle glared at Ilyon, daring him to test her and ordering him to answer their master. With her mate waiting thousands of miles beyond Koschei's lands, safe hopefully forever, she wasn't willing to speak. Didn't want to tell their story _ever._

"You have to win them as you would any other lover," Ilyon said uneasily. "Court them and fall in love, acknowledge and accept the bond. Mate, marry. Happily ever after."

Raelle failed to stifle a snort. She ignored Ilyon's glare and Koschei's amused chuckle, brimming with ire. Because _regular love_ was a thing. Because _happily ever after_ existed. 

"What are your recommendations, Raelle?" Koschei asked, turning enough for her to see one brow perfectly raised. "Something darker, I'm sure."

Raelle gritted her teeth, trying not to think of Ysha and what had brought the pair of them together - what had split them apart. Even if she'd said _for now._ "Your bribery appears to be working, or it will in time anyways. Grander bargains, liege, and her heart will surely be yours."

It was Ilyon's turn for a disbelieving chuckle, one that Raelle was happy to ignore. Her eyes instead dutifully on her master as he turned to face his two closest fully.

"You hide things from me, Raelle," he purred in a deceivingly soft voice. Those beckoning eyes brought back other conversations to her - ones that Ilyon had never heard. _We could have our fun, you and I. Don't you think it's about time I find somebody willing to take the reigns herself? You could teach me things, I'm sure._ She'd given him a bland smile and simply said she wasn't sure if she'd survive him. He'd laughed off the obvious lie, but never gone further into it than further flirting and later offers. Not one of them even the slightest bit tempting.

"At least I'm not a sappy, dripping heart like right hand here," she replied smoothly, gesturing to Ilyon. "I'm at least the _most_ similar to our subject at hand."

Koschei laughed. "And you wouldn't accept me, would you, Raelle? So why would she. Not without magic. Not without touching to her mind - the perfect deal for anybody else. But you know I can't with her."

He'd raged about it in initial days, when they'd first discovered it and started to look into the only fae in the world who could ever stand even nearly equal to a death god. Not that the _nearly_ counted for much at all. _Fucking soulstealer,_ he'd snarled for hour after hour. _Fucking Soulstealer._ A prayer near equal to their guttural twins - _I must_ have _her._

"Soulstealer," Raelle murmured in memory. "She took things, when she was angry. So make her angry - angry enough to take something more. Not just you, but your bribes - your estate, your legacy."

Koschei's eyes flashed, a wicked grin creeping over his sensuous lips. "And what do you suggest might do the trick, Second?"

"Her anger across the sea was caused by pain and suffering to her sister," Ilyon recalled. "Not the younger, the Lady. The fawn."

Koschei looked up, thinking deep. "You know I am bound to the lands, Ilyon."

"You have others who are not. Have _us_ who are not."

"The Lords of Prythian - the pair of Night, especially - have reinforced borders on the Continent. And they will not risk capture of the fawn a third time... it would not be an easy mission."

"We could stir dissent and catch them off guard," Ilyon said. "Or we could speak to the Soulstealer regardless of it. Entombed here, she has no way to verify what we tell her. Tell her the fawn is missing, in pain - tell her the power you would grant her would allow her to find her and bring her home. Bring her here. She'll be putty in your hand, master."

Koschei laughed - a wicked, spine-tingling laugh that made Raelle shudder and long for Ysha's comforting arms.

"You're ranked for a reason," he chuckled. "Clearly. Be in my throne room tomorrow. I'll bring her here." His eyes flashed with something other than villainous glee as he began to stalk away. "I grow tired of waiting for her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to write but I keep doing it after reading my favourite Nessian fic and I just,,, don't compare


	28. Love Without Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta spills her heart to Alda (sort of). Alda seeks out the wraith.

Even returned to her normal body, Alda still felt stuck inside her head by the time Nesta returned, as if she were only half in this world. As if the wraith's very essence was stuck on her body, following her like a phantom of her own soul.

"You'd think an ancient, magical library stuffed with tomes would be more helpful," Nesta groused in lieu of greeting. She made her way to the kitchen, taking up her usual place at the chopping board without further comment. Alda watched her in silence as she angled the knife, slicing over and over until she fell into a rhythm. She watched that, too. Let herself fall into the rhythm as well.

Then she cleared her throat, shaking her head as she turned back to her own work. "Catrin isn't the only priestess you can ask about these things. One of the others might - "

"I don't want to ask one of the others," Nesta said simply, with only a little bite. "If Catrin doesn't have what I'm looking for, then... he doesn't. I'm not just going to replace him for someone _more useful_."

Alda frowned, lips pursing. She forced herself to choke down each and every word on her tongue, busying herself with sifting through the spices. She knew how Nesta didn't like to answer questions, even when her sentences prompted so many of them. So Alda kept her mouth shut.

After a while, Nesta asked, "Why do you have so many books? On - mate bonds? Is it just for the romance? Because I know plenty of romance books without them."

Alda smiled. "For the fae, mate bonds are the _height_ of romance. Even though statistically, most of them don't even work romantically, at least not for an immortal's lifetime. It's like every other impossible trope in all your human books - love at first sight, perfect, flawless characters. They're our impossible dream, and everyone wants to write them and blow them out of proportion."

"I told you," Nesta said mildly, "I've _read_ fae books without mate bonds. There are plenty of them out there, in the same way that not every book has the same tropes. So how come _you_ have so many?"

Alda sighed, searching for some kind of subtle evasion. "It is the height of romance for _me._ Those things I just said... they are not true just for me. But they are." _Don't ask why._

Nesta was quiet for a moment. "Did you have a mate? Before you were taken."

Alda shook her head. "Fleeting lovers, but never anything... anything like in the books. With or without the mate bonds. We just didn't connect, male or female." It wasn't really about that, though, Alda knew. "What about you?"

Nesta gave Alda a strange look. "My mate is _here_." The words were bitter, unforgiving venom.

"I meant lovers," Alda said cautiously. She had a feeling she wasn't meant to be pressing here, but she sensed Nesta's power lay dormant. Not rising up to protect her from swirling emotions, not poised to strike.

She remained silent a few moments, then said lightly, "Same as you. Fleeting lovers. Males from taverns - never twice. Not lovers at all, in some senses of the word, but they were there if that's what you're asking."

Alda granted her some space to think over the words she'd just spoken, as if she might want to go back and change them all, add something new. But when she said nothing else, Alda spoke up with, "There was one lover I had that I thought I loved - really loved." Nesta was still chopping away, as gently as a knife could move, but she knew she held her whole attention. "Her name was Sana. And she was wild and reckless and free, and... and she understood who I was in ways I had never seen before."

"What do you mean?" A quiet question, somehow hopeful. As if the answer would bring light to an otherwise dim conversation.

Alda shrugged, as if removing a jacket made from nothing but pain. "I don't know. I just... I had this idea of myself, and who I was, and Sana didn't see me that way at all. And I knew everyone else saw me like I did, as being docile and peaceful and too pleasing to be of any interest. But Sana saw the parts of me that I had never paid any heed to... the way I watched things and listened, and the way I could read people and know what they needed."

Nesta was still now, and so, so quiet. "But you didn't love her?"

Alda fussed over the stove, trying to find somewhere to look - some way to be casual. "No. I wanted to; tried to. But I just didn't love her like that. And something about it was driving us away." She put the chicken on, still fiddling to keep her eyes averted. "I wanted to be her friend, though. I loved her like _that_."

"And she wanted more?"Alda shrugged, even though the answer was forefront in her mind, on more occasions than just today. "What can I say. Do you want to set the table?"

Nesta remained quiet as she set down the knife and moved away from the board, reaching to the cupboards to fish for the placemats. Alda felt her cheeks burning, blood buzzing, as she hunched over the bench and allowed herself to breathe.

One breath for the family she had left behind so long ago.

One breath for the lovers-that-hadn't-been-loved-enough she'd left behind even _longer_ ago.

One breath for the future, the future that beckoned if only she cleared her head enough to think past this moment.

"I know you know about everything that happened in Prythian," Nesta said in a low voice, still meticulously straightening the placemats. "And you've been avoiding bringing it up. Because of that uncanny ability of yours - to sense what people feel and what they need." She shook her head. "But you want to know."

"I don't _need_ to know."

Nesta looked over her shoulder, her blue eyes piercing. Perhaps through whatever said uncanny ability, Alda read everything there - the lingering hurt, maybe confusion, and the sense of wondering why she had even brought it up when silence worked so well. But that was the thing, Alda had learnt - silence was perfect. But a silence filled with unanswered questions was never as peaceful as a contented, bare silence, and the only way to get there was to speak.

"I don't understand... how it all..." Nesta shook her head again, eyebrows bunching together. She slid into the chair she'd been standing beside. "I've never fallen in love before. Despite all the mate-bond talk back in the villages, despite the rush to get myself married off so Feyre could have her happily ever after. Despite my belief that... that Tomas's desire for me equated to being love."

Something red hot, edged with horror surfaced in Alda at the implications behind those words and the haunted look in her eyes.

"But there was never real love. And I certainly didn't think I'd find it in.... in some _warrior brute_ intent on annoying the _fuck_ out of me. Every. Damn. Day. No matter what everybody around us seemed to think... lay between us."

Alda wondered what it was like, to live a life like that. To _know_ your story was being told differently, and forever would be. Not just about the _warrior brute,_ but she knew that not everybody saw the layers Nesta wore, the burdens she bore. Knew that most would see her as a witch, a villain in the story. The story that had always been Feyre's.

"I didn't think I loved him. Not once. But I started to think of him when he wasn't there, and his presence calmed me down when things were bad, and... then the day with Hybern…" Alda did her best not to notice the shine in the Soulstealer's eyes. "I didn't hesitate. Not for one second - when he lay dying beneath me, there was no other option in the world than to lay aside him and offer my life. My worthless life; I had nothing to go back to if he was gone. And I realised that only when I was presented with it, and I don't know if he knew that. But we were going to go together and do it all over again, better. Only, we were saved. And I realised, that even though he was there to go back to..."

Alda wondered how often she relived this. Had to go through these pains in silence, in solitude. Wondered if she would ever bring it up again after this, or if this was her big unburdening and she would return to her reclusive emotions after tonight.

"Even if he was there to go back to," Nesta continued, "I wasn't worth it. To him. I knew that. I didn't deserve a warrior like him when I... I was wrecked. Even before the war, and the Cauldron, I was broken and _just not worth it._ And every night - _every damn night without fail_ \- I would have the most horrific nightmares and I would live it all again, and the pain got worse with every passing day, and... it was easier not to know them. Not to have sisters and friends and lovers and mates. Because they would die or they would hurt and I would not be able to save them, and I would feel so much pain. The lingering ache of leaving them... it was easier to take, I thought. But it still drove me crazy, along with the relentless pound of ever-building magic, and I did whatever I could to drown it. Kept up the drinking I had experimented with in the initial days of that pain, found fleeting lovers I would never find it in me to care about. I stopped caring about anything.

"But he _kept trying._ He couldn't see that I was falling apart worse than ever before and he _kept trying to save me._ I could never be saved. But he was still there... watching me in the dark, pulsing deadly power when a tavern-goer got too handsy, walking me home from Solstice." She paused and swallowed, as if there was more she nearly said but wasn't ready to yet. "And I just wanted to _scream._ To get him to open his damned blind eyes and leave me the _fuck_ alone before it broke one of us. And he did. And I... I lived with that."

 _Lived with that._ Not _accepted that,_ but _lived with that._ As if even now that truth was hard to take.

"For how long?" Alda asked, as gently as she could manage. Nesta looked at her, her blue-gray eyes clear again. "A year."

"And did... do you love him?"

"Of course not," she replied. But it was a reflex, even Alda could see - a reflex against herself more than anything. On those lonely nights she would think of him, and ask herself - _did she love him?_ \- she had trained herself to reply that way. _Of course not._ Alda knew.

"You don't have to," Alda said, feeling the words leave her mouth before she could think them over. A note quieter, she added, "And you don't have to love Koschei, either."

Nesta blinked, as if having forgotten. Then the stony half-scowl washed back over her sharp features and she said coldly, "I know."

Conversation went back to the usual of little to be said, only casual statements as it was. And it wasn't until Nesta made to disappear into her room, romance novel in hand, that Alda said softly, "It is okay to love. In whatever way - regardless of pain and conflict, regardless of future. That's what love is, when it's true. To love without consequence. Even if you are not loved in return."

Crushing pain swamped the gray of her eyes, and she nodded sharply before disappearing behind her door.

Regardless of it or not, love and pain were inseparable. And the echo could linger for millennia.

Shaking her head, Alda tried to steer her thoughts back to where they were meant to be. It was dark, and late, and she was free of her bird form and Nesta was asleep - it was time to seek out the wraith.

**.oOo.**

She walked the moonlit garden, feeling like an idiot as she rounded hedges and crunched pebbles, searching for someone that wasn't waiting for her. What had they said? _Seek me out tonight, when you have more of a tongue on you. Shouldn't be that difficult._ Oh, yes. Easy as freaking - 

Alda stifled a cry as the shadow in front of her warped, moved - and the wraith stepped out of it, until they were barely inches away from her.

"Hello," they purred, smirking like a devil. "I told you you'd find me."

Alda spluttered her displeasure, then crossed her arms, glaring as best she could. Which likely wasn't much, given her naturally-innocent form, but it hurt her forehead muscles.

The wraith laughed, then stooped over their long legs to see her face, leaning in with their stupid grin. "Not much of a talker, are you? Even when you have the tongue for it." Their fingers grazed under her chin, cold and rough like tree bark, and Alda tensed at the sensation. Pulled back into herself. They laughed again, and straightened up, stepping back - barely. "Would you like to walk with me, mortal?"

She flinched as if they'd slapped her, stepping away. "What do you... how - " 

The wraith only beckoned. "Walk with me."

Stunned into silence, she obeyed, trying to keep up with their longer strides on her much-shorter legs. Her mind short-circuited, once, twice, and she found nothing to say to the mysterious, ominous creature but, "You were not sent to me by Koschei."

The wraith laughed. "By the Cauldron, no. He'd slaughter me if he knew I was here. At least, he'd try."

"And how long have you been here?" They rolled their shoulders, eyes cast ahead. "A year? Something close to it, anyway."

Alda started. "You - you've been right under his nose for a year and he hasn't suspected anything?!"

They smirked at her. "So have you."

She flinched again. "I - will you cut that out! There's nothing to suspect of me. I'm just another of his birdgirls. He has them from... several species."

"Fae and human," the wraith recited, eyes glinting with predatory amusement. "Like I said, if he caught _me,_ I'd be slaughtered. If he was in a good mood."

Alda tried not to think on it - on any of it. Even as she asked, "So you've been here for a year, risking your ass for what?"

The wraith stopped now, examining their sharp, midnight nails. Either way too casual or just better than her at faking it. "Spy work. Keeping an eye on Koschei."

"Very helpful."

A flash of fanged teeth - not a snarl. Another gods-damned smile, as if they had a right to be that cheery in the midst of this horror - 

"I hope that's what you plan to be, Angel Eyes. Otherwise we're just going to get cold, and you might walk into a cobweb."

"Huh? I - oh." Alda dodged the cobweb in front of her face, then stumbled to keep up as the wraith kept on walking. "What do you need me to help with? I'm not a spy. I wouldn't even be any good at it."

The wraith smiled into the dark. "You don't need to do a thing but conspire with me."

Alda started. "You're fucking insane."

They cackled. "Perhaps. But you will. It's beneficial to you."

"Beneficial to - " Her mind raced, then she put the pieces together, bit by bit. "You... You're here to get Nesta."

"Here to get all of you, if things go to plan. Like I said, I've been here a year, Nesta's only been here a month or so. But that's my current priority, if that's what you're asking." They cleared their throat. "I feel like you would have fair insight."

"And why would you feel that way?" Alda demanded, but the tone of her own voice was making her knees weak with fear. She couldn't speak to them like this - "Because you've spent the past few weeks spying on roommate to the Soulstealer and have deemed her worthy to help you conspire to overthrow the most powerful death god ever borne to this earth?!?!"

The wraith shrugged, sharp shoulders cutting through the mist of nighttime. "Pretty much."Alda crossed her arms. "And your original plan was to get me to do this in my bird form, speechless?"

The wraith held up a finger. "Firstly, to be speechless is your choice. There are dozens of magical ways for you to use your voice in bird form, whether through amulets, spells, or just your own raw magic. Secondly - " They added a second finger - "I brought flashcards."

Alda just blinked at them.

They smiled, what she supposed was meant to be sheepish. It didn't appear to be an expression they wore often. "But you didn't trust me enough to hear me out. So here we are."

"You're a mad... a... a maniac," she finished, the goosebumps raising on her arms not entirely from the cold air. "You can't be serious."

"We can go in this circle all night long, Angel," the wraith sighed. "Am I insane? Yes, likely. Do we both want to overthrow Koschei enough to free his mate - all his slaves, best case scenario? Of course. Are you going to break down and work with me eventually anyways? Most definitely. Do we both want to go to sleep so we can get to scheming in the morning? Hell, yes. That makes things obvious enough, I reckon - conversation over. Unless you have something else to add?"

She never thought she'd escape. And perhaps she never would. But... but Nesta still could.

"Conversation over," she breathed. "Don't you dare turn me in."

The wraith smiled. "I'm not in the mood to be slaughtered, anyways. Good night, angel. See you bright and early." They imitated a bird noise, then laughed to themselves as they disappeared into their shadows once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who watched Sarah's livestream last night? Lots of tangents but it's fair to say I'm out-of-my-mind excited for acosf. Also, today I decided not just on how this baby is going to find its end, but also where we get our next beginning. Would you guys be up for an Elriel sequel to this, possibly similar to what Sarah's planning to do?


	29. Manipulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta seeks shelter in her safe place; but Koschei has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I DISAPPEARED DIDN'T I. I'M REALLY SORRY!!! DID YOU GUYS SEE SARAH'S TEASER.
> 
> ALSO I GOT DISTRACTED GOOGLING WHAT CASSIAN SMELLS LIKE AND THIS CHAPTER GOT DELETED. IT WAS ONE OF MY FAVES TOO. I HOPE I RECREATED IT TO JUSTICE.

Nesta had not intended to tell Alda all those things about Cassian. All those secrets she had tried to steer away from thinking as much as possible. Even that day in the library, when Zenith had started asking questions about her roommate, about their friendship.

 _Do you trust her?_ He'd asked. _Trust is hard to come by here,_ he'd added by way of explanation.

So Nesta had said, _To some degree. I trust her not to kill me in my sleep, or even to assist Koschei with such a thing. So yes, I trust her with my life. But not with my soul._

 _That's the one that's worth it,_ Zenith had noted. Nesta had said nothing.

Yet still she had bared that soul with little prompting, spilled clean the parts of herself she loathed the most. And though the unburdening should have felt good - even though it had for a moment - it mostly just left her feeling sick. Sick with the knowledge that the words had been said aloud, that Alda had heard them. She'd made her escape as quickly as possible after that.

And in the dark, with her heart racing a million miles an hour and her mind going even faster, she reached inside her for that tiny tendril of light.

That one sense of self that had traveled with her all her life, always glowing even when it nearly went out entirely, no matter where she was and who she had to be. It was, perhaps, the one part of herself she could say she truly adored. For in that moment, where she clung tight to it and wrapped it around her soul like one of Emerie's shawls, the fear and pain and confusion and sickness washed away completely, replaced by light and warmth and peace. It sung to her, a silent, rolling lullaby until she was coaxed into sleep, falling deeper and deeper into its embrace.

She felt whole here, she decided. It was a place to smooth over bad days like they'd never made her hurt, make her feel enough of the right things that she wanted to keep feeling for just a while longer. Just long enough to find some way to want more. Desire fed her, kept her going, when anger was her only other balm against the raging emptiness forever waiting.

She swam through the waves of varying golden light, letting it fill all the empty and hollow places in her tattered, worn soul. Breathed in deep and let the warmth of vanilla, musk and spices burn through her. Burning, raging until she became the fire made flesh. Burning, and glad to. Glad to keep burning.

And that was when the light shuddered. Pulled in, the golds turning more to silvers. Nesta turned, spinning through an endless realm of it, and watched. Waited. Until inky black flooded into her vision and swarmed her paradise like a tidal wave, pulling her in every direction.

She was drowning - back in that damned Cauldron, drowning , drowning, _screaming with no one to save her -_

 _Meet me in the throne room, mate,_ purred a voice of shadows and bones. Koschei. Tugging her to him on the mate bond.

Nesta whimpered inwardly as her scenery changed once more. Everything dark, her standing at the bottom of a deep, deep pit - looking up into the real world. Consciousness. She had to wake up now.

Still, before she pushed off towards an undesirable surface, she turned to look behind her. To see a curl of that precious light, just fixing to disappear. Its warmth within her already cooling, she turned away and reached for the life she had to live.

**.oOo.**

"I thought you'd never join us, beloved," Koschei crooned as she entered the throne room.

Nesta glared, finding the god lounging contentedly on a much-too-grand throne, perched on a much-too-high dais, swirling a jewel-encrusted goblet in one hand. "Despite the fact you felt the need to _summon me_ before dawn, I figured you wouldn't appreciate me showing up in pajamas." 

"Darling, you can show up in _whatever you like,"_ Koschei said, winking suggestively. Nesta gave him her frostiest look, feeling her magic stir as if in anticipation for a long-awaited brawl. It had been a while since her last bar fight, and even the task of healing her blows seemed to be a grateful reprieve for her magic.

"Get to the point," she said, teeth gritted. "I tire of your games."

Koschei chuckled, eyes flashing with something unreadable. "Need your beauty rest, sweetheart?"

Something red-hot flashed through her, bright and blinding enough she clenched her hands into fists, biting half-moons into her skin. _"Do not call me that."_ Magic coiling like an asp, preparing to strike even if - 

Koschei raised a palm in mock surrender. "No need to get so _territorial,_ love. Don't you want to speak like equals?"

She gave a pointed look to the towering dais and throne, still far from where she stood in the room. Koschei laughed.

"Well, as equal as we can be now. Given that I am a god among mortals, a harbinger of death, and you..." He gestured to the plain periwinkle dress she wore, the simple bun her gold-brown hair was coiled in. "You are a human. A human playing dress-ups with somebody else's skin."

Nesta bared her teeth. "If this is some ploy to get me to accept your bond, you may as well - "

"Mate, you think so little of me." A chuckle came from the shadows below the dais, indicating the presence of his second and third. "You think I wake you in the midst of your well-deserved rest, bring you to me, just to manipulate you?" He tutted, turning his eyes to the contents of the goblet. "Sometimes I wonder what tales of me ever even _reached_ your pitiful mortal realm."

"We didn't hear of you," Nesta said boldly. "We heard only of _regular fae._ Some slightly more beastly faeries. But not underhands to the afterlife." Not entirely true. That was the most part, and humans had long stopped worshipping or even remembering gods at all, but for those curious enough to poke their noses where they weren't meant to be, there were few stories. Stories of death made flesh that could wreck you for eternity with a glance, a flick of fingers.

Those depthless eyes fell on her again, perfect lips twitching up into a smirk. "I thought you wanted to get to the point."

"I'm waiting."

Koschei huffed a dramatic sigh, then lolled his head to one side. "Raelle. What was it you told me? The terribly important thing that concerns my dear soulstealer."

From the shadows beneath the serpentine carvings of the throne, Koschei's second cleared her throat. "Our spies reported their suspicions at eight minutes past midnight tonight. We then attempted to look into the matter, but were unable to see much through the close guardianship of the Night Court. Against us specifically, of course - after your mate's capture."

Nesta stiffened at their clearly rehearsed attempt to draw things out, lure her in. Though at least her "capture" had had a few positive turnouts for the others.

"At forty four minutes past one, we had a spy declare they were going to try and get info from Vassa and her crew," Raelle continued. "And at twelve minutes past two, we had the suspicions confirmed. Spies have returned; no operation underway until we have the go-ahead from a ruler."

 _"What_ suspicions," Nesta spat. "What _operation? What suspicions?"_

Koschei swung into an upright sitting position, bracing his elbows on his knees, goblet cradled between them. For once, not even smirking.

"I feel like I should tell her," murmured Ilyon. "Just to be a little bit gentler with the blow - "

"The news comes from Prythian's Night Court," Koschei interrupted, his voice grave. "Velaris, specifically." 

Nesta went cold. Who was in Velaris - who wasn't roaming the rest of the court, the rest of the country, who, who, _who -_

"Somebody broke past the Lady Amren's weakened forces," he went on, "and found their way into the estate. Your sister, Elain.... she has been taken. There are no leads."

Heart pounding like a fist trying to punch out of her chest - head throbbing, body buzzing out of what was real. The inky black that had earlier swallowed her light swallowed what was left of the rest of her, smothered all of her being until there was nothing left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY AGAIN FOR DISAPPEARING. AHHH.


End file.
